


The Truth About the Stars

by ArtemisRayne



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken, Stardust (2007)
Genre: Abolitionist, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Rebellion, Revolution, Sky Pirates, Slash, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 122,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisRayne/pseuds/ArtemisRayne
Summary: The rest of the world might not think Jack Kelly is destined for much, but Jack knows better. He just needs to get away from the city, to some place where he can be more than just another nameless orphan in the chaos of New York City. So when someone offers to pay his way to Santa Fe in exchange for crossing the Wall and retrieving a fallen star, he jumps at the chance.He just wasn't expecting the star to be so, well,human.Jack makes a deal with the fallen star named David to get them both home, but the magical kingdom of Stormhold has so much more in store for them both. People are tracking David, and secrets from Jack's past leave him in danger as well. There's rampant injustice in the kingdom, those born with magic enslaved to keep the world running smoothly. As Jack learns more about the world on the other side of the Wall, he finds himself thrust into the role of leader. As David watches the rise of a revolution, he grows inevitably awed by humanity and the inspiring boy at his side.Throw in a climate of political upheaval, a renegade noblewoman, and a crew of fugitive sky pirates, and soon all of Stormhold will know that change is coming.





	1. Welcome to Stormhold

**Author's Note:**

> IDK what this is, really, apart from a terrible combination of my countless rewatches of the broadway Newsies recording, NaNoWriMo, and a spastic muse. Copious amounts of "artistic liberties" and author hand-waving, so take it all with a grain of salt. That being said, I've tried to stay as true to the characters and time period as I can in something this AU.
> 
>  **Note:** Characters based entirely on the Broadway musical, because I haven't seen the film since the last millennium sometime. The exception to this is Spot Conlon, since he's barely in the musical, so his character has been based largely on interpretations I've picked up from reading the rest of the fanfics in this fandom over the last year. Same goes for a couple of the smaller Newsies who don't get stage time.

Despite what some people might think, Jack Kelly is not a stupid boy. He might not have gotten a proper education like those public school boys, but he knows how to take care of himself, and he's good at keeping a roof over his head and food in his belly. He learned, young and early, that he had to look out for himself because no one else was gonna do it. To everyone else, Jack Kelly is just one more forgotten child in the mass of orphans of New York. Worse, he's only one week from his eighteenth birthday, when he'll be turfed out of the boys' home and doomed to spend the rest of his days breaking his back to get by until he dies.

The rest of the world might not think Jack Kelly is destined for much, but Jack knows better. He just needs to get away from the city, to some place where he can matter. Someplace where he can be more than just another face in the crowd. Someplace like Santa Fe. Jack has been putting aside all of the money he can, taking on every side job he can get to save up for a train ticket, but time is running short and he's starting to get desperate.

All of which leads, through a series of unusual but interconnected circumstances, to a somewhat battered Jack Kelly taking refuge in the backstage of the Irving Hall burlesque theatre on the night when our story begins.

It's far from the first time that Jack's picked the lock on the back door of Medda Larkin's theatre in the middle of the night. The boys' home has a curfew and sometimes his jobs don't get finished in time. The first time Miss Medda found out about him kipping on a fire escape for the night, she nearly blew a gasket. She all but demanded that if he ever needed a place to sleep, he use the theatre. Jack's self-preservation instinct told him it was better not to argue with the woman; she has always been sweet on him, but that don't stop her giving him a good wallop when she thinks he deserves it.

It's late enough that the last show is done and the theatre is deserted. Jack weaves his way through props and set pieces, familiar even in the darkness. He is halfway across the backstage when one of the dressing room doors swings open. "Jack Kelly, is that you?"

Shielding his eyes against the light, Jack squints at the curving silhouette in the doorframe. "Sorry, Miss Medda, I thought youse gone home."

Medda plants her hands on her hips and clicks her tongue loudly. "Don't you ' _sorry_ ' me, boy. I ain't seen you in days. Get ya'self over here." Jack grins as he crosses to the door and lets the woman drag him down into a bone-crushing hug, which is still comforting despite his bruised ribs. When she lets go, she takes his face in her hands and her smile fades. "Goodness, sugar, what'd you get ya'self into this time?"

"I didn' start it this time, honest," Jack protests.

"Didn't finish it either, by the looks of it," says Medda. She shakes her head and steers him into her dressing room. She shoves him down onto the settee while she gathers up the washrag and bowl she uses to clean off her stage makeup. Jack scoots to make room for her and she settles down, starting to clear away the dirt and blood on his face. "Who you pick a fight with this time?"

"Guard at the Wall," Jack admits sheepishly. "Old geezer's faster 'an he looks."

Medda freezes and gives him a severe look. "How many times I tell you to stay away from the Wall? What were you thinkin'?"

Jack sweeps his newsboy cap off and twists it between his hands anxiously. The Wall is something of an urban legend in Manhattan; the old stories say that the stretch of stone wall at the edge of the city is the barrier between this world and another, some mystical place full of magic and monsters. There is only one way to cross the Wall into the other world, through a gap where several of the bricks have been knocked out, and the gap is guarded at all times. No one _ever_ crosses the Wall.

"There's a fella down in Flushing," Jack starts, not able to meet Medda's gaze and talking instead to his knees, "said if I could bring him a fallen star, he'd pay me 'nough to get to Santa Fe. Thought he was crazy, course, but then tonight I seen a star fallin', brightest I ever saw, and it landed somewhere on the other side the Wall. I was tryna get 'cross to find it."

"Oh, Jack." Medda trails off with a sigh, turning her focus back to cleaning out a deep scrape on his jaw.

"I know it's stupid," says Jack, huffing in frustration. "Jus' - I'm runnin' outta time. I still don't got 'nough for the train, let 'lone a place ta' live and such. I thought if I could just go find the guy his stupid rock, it'd fix me up good."

Medda pinches his chin to stop him moving, trying to get the last of the grit from the scrape. "You know I've said you can stay here so long as you need. And I can pay you for the new backdrop."

"I told ya I ain't takin' your money, Medda," Jack counters. "Not after everythin' you do for me." He sighs and looks down at his hands, picking at a bit of dead skin on his finger. "I dunno, maybe I'm foolin' myself. Kids like me, we's born here and we die here. Maybe I's never gonna get any diff'rent."

"You _weren't_ born here." Medda says it so quiet that Jack squints up at her in confusion, thinking he misheard. She lowers the washrag and gives him a sad, calculating look, before sighing. "I was gonna tell ya on your birthday anyway, a few days early won't hurt."

"Whatcha mean?" Jack asks.

Silently, Medda crosses to her wardrobe and retrieves a small, velvety pouch from the back of a drawer. "Always tried to do right by you," she says, her smile fond when she sits down by him again. "As right as I could, anyway. I wasn't in any place to take care of you in the start, but I still tried." She lets out a heavy breath. "The truth is that I was born on the other side of the Wall - Stormhold, it's called - and so were you."

And that's when Medda tells him a story: a tale about a young girl, sold into the servitude of a sorcerer, who dreamt of escape; a trip to the marketplace, where people were being auctioned for the flickers of magic beneath their skin; two small brothers, crying and clutching at each other as they were sold to separate bidders; and a desperate bid for freedom into a new world.

"Your brother stepped on a hex trap as we were running," Medda says with tears sparkling at the corners of her eyes. Jack feels his thoughts momentarily stall on one word: _brother_. "There was no chance to save him, I just grabbed you and ran. I can still hear his scream in my head, the poor thing." She swallows and determinedly wipes her eyes. "I was only fourteen, I couldn't take care of you on my own, so I took you to the boys' home. But I tried to keep an eye on you as much as I could, and when I finally came into money-" She scoffs. "Well, they sure ain't letting no colored woman take in a white boy, but I still did everything I could to make sure you knew you were wanted."

Jack startles, looking up at Medda in surprise. She had tried to adopt him? A sudden surge of affection wells up in him, causing his throat to stick. He wishes he could tell her how much that means to him, and how much he appreciates everything she's done for him, but he can't find the right words. Before he can even try, Medda clears her throat and opens up the velvet pouch. "I stole this off my master's table when I left. This is all I brought with me, apart from you," she says. From inside the bag, she produces a little white flower, the delicate petals bright and bell-shaped, untouched by time.

"What's'it?" asks Jack.

"A lucky charm," she answers. She reaches out and uses a pin from her hair to stick it to Jack's shirt pocket. "It's supposed to keep you safe. Thought you could use it. But this is what I really wanted to give you." She holds up a thin black candle. "This is a Babylon candle; it's the fastest way to travel. You just think of where you want to be and light it, and you'll be there."

Jack's heart leaps up into his throat and he stares at Medda with wide eyes, realizing what she's implying. "You mean this thing can get me to Santa Fe?"

Ten minutes later, Jack's gathered up his stash that he kept hidden in Medda's dressing room - he didn't trust the other boys at the dorms not to filch his things - and tucked it into his bag. Medda hands him a little package wrapped in newspaper, tied with a bright blue ribbon. "For your birthday," she says. He makes to argue but she shoves the package into his hand firmly. "Don't you talk back to me, Jack Kelly." Smiling, Jack gives in and tucks the package into his bag. Medda cups his cheek in her palm. "I'm gonna miss you so."

Once again stuck for words, Jack pulls her into another hug. He breathes in her smell - floral perfume and face powder and the eucalyptus from her laundry soap - and tries to memorize the moment. Medda is the closest thing he's ever known to home, and from her story, he owes her a whole lot more than that. Jack swallows hard when he finally steps back and he tries to be subtle about drying his eyes; if Medda notices, she doesn't say.

"Okay, now think of where you wanna be," Medda says, pressing the candle into his palm and picking up a box of matches. Jack closes his eyes and draws up every painting and photograph he's ever seen of Santa Fe. Stretches of dirt, bright red-orange beneath the scrubby bushes and towering cacti; enormous plateaus against the horizon, like mountains with the tops chopped clean off; squat houses of clay built into chunky squares; and an endless violet sky, like a velvet blanket, dotted with millions more stars than Jack could ever possibly imagine. In a place like that, he'll have no trouble seeing the streaks of white as shooting stars plummet to the earth. Maybe he'll even be able to follow the trail and find one, like that one from earlier.

With that thought in his head, Jack hears the strike of a match and his entire world dissolves into light.

The dizzying sense of vertigo ends rather abruptly when he collides with something solid that sends him tumbling to the ground. Jack groans, the impact making his injuries flare to the surface again, and he struggles to blink away the spots in his vision as his eyes adjust to the darkness. He lifts his head and squints around, and he can see just enough for one crucial detail to sink in:

"This ain't Santa Fe."

"Brilliant observation. Could you get off me?"

* * *

David hasn't even had this new body for ten minutes yet, but so far, his impression is that humanity is painful. His leg is twinging, wrenched around by the stupid necklace that knocked him out of the sky in the first place. The crash landing on earth was bad enough, his skin feeling hot and tender from dropping through the atmosphere and bones aching from impact, but then he's barely getting his bearings when something rams into him and throws him to the ground again. When the thing groans, he realizes it's not so much a something but a some _one_.

Seriously, humanity _sucks_.

"This ain't Santa Fe."

"Brilliant observation," David mutters angrily, struggling to breathe with the weight of the human on his chest. "Could you get off me?"

The human shoves up onto his elbows and David gets his first look at his face. The human is young, with a strong jaw and fathomless, honey-brown eyes. His lips are parted in an O of surprise as he stares back at David. They hold each other's gaze for a long moment, heavy with anticipation, before the human startles and sits up. David feels his stomach flip as the human straddles his hips for a moment, this new body traitorous in its oh-so-human reactions. The human scrambles over to sit on the ground and the distance is a relief in more than one way.

"Sorry," the human says. "You okay?"

"Swell," David drawls, tone heavy with sarcasm as he sits up gingerly. Everything in his body protests and he struggles to muffle his wincing.

"This ain't Santa Fe," the human boy says again.

David looks up to see the human sitting on his heels, staring up at the sky. "You said that already," David points out irritably.

"Why didn't it work?" The human seems to be talking to himself now, staring intently at something in his hand. "She said think of where you wanna go, and I was thinkin' of Santa Fe and the red rocks and the stars and the - the _stars_ , o'course. Dammit! I was thinkin' stars and I remembered that shooting star from earlier, and I musta-" The boy trails off and looks around, comprehension clicking behind his eyes. "We's in a crater," he says, standing up and turning in a circle. "This must be where it fell."

David snorts. "Again with those brilliant observations."

The human apparently remembers that David exists at that moment because he spins to face him with eyes wild. "A shooting star fell 'round here," he says, breathless. "Didja see it?"

Annoyed and sore and starting to feel the beginnings of proper panic, David's patience snaps. "If you want to be specific, it fell over there," he says and points at the deepest part of the crater, now a few feet from where they've ended up. "That's where it landed after this stupid necklace," he lifts up the gaudy golden chain with its diamond pendant, "knocked it out of the sky. And that is also where, not five minutes later, some idiot came flying through the air and knocked it over again."

If he wasn't so worked up, the look of shock and confusion on the human boy's face would've made David laugh. The guy opens and closes his mouth a couple times, gaping like a fish, before he finds his voice. "Wait, you - youse the star?"

"Three in a row," David says bitterly. "Look at him, he's a regular genius." Leaving the human to his amazement, David pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Something is comforting about the posture, curling in on himself. He tips his head back to look up at the sky, so very, _very_ far away. The other stars glitter back at him, but from here, he can't hear the constant whisper of their voices. The absence is more unsettling than he ever expected it to be; how many times had he wished his siblings would just shut up for a few minutes? The homesickness is sudden and crippling, and he bites back a terrified whimper.

"Okay, kid, so here's the deal," the human says and David jumps, having forgotten about the boy in his panic. He glances up with a skeptical frown. "I figure you probably wanna get home, right? And if you knew how, you'd be gone already." David locks his jaw, but that seems to be answer enough for the human. "Thought so. This bit of candle, will it get ya there?"

David's eyes widen as the human opens his hand, revealing what he's been holding. It's short, only one use left in it, but - "You have a Babylon candle?" He scrambles to his feet eagerly before suspicion sets in, and he frowns at the boy. "Wait, aren't you trying to get somewhere? Why would you give that to me?"

"Well it ain't free," the human laughs. "But here's the thing: I gots a guy back home who says if I can show him a real fallen star, he'll pay me 'nough to get to Santa Fe. Figure we can help each other out. You come back with me so I can get my money, this candle is yours. Sound fair?"

"Where's your guy?" David counters, stalling for time as he thinks it over.

"New York, just the other side the Wall."

"The Wall!" David objects indignantly. "It'll take at least a week to get there from here."

The human shrugs. "Well then be glad I'm offerin' the candle to you, 'stead of just usin' it to get me outta here." David scowls at him dubiously, and the boy goads, "You got any better ideas for gettin' home?"

David lets out a breath and glances up again. He's heard stories before about stars falling to land, but none of those stories has ever mentioned how, or even if, the stars get back into the sky. This might be his best chance.

Something of his thoughts must show on his face because the human nods determinedly. "So you come back to Manhattan with me, I give you this candle. Deal?" The boy spits into his palm and holds it out expectantly.

David recoils in horror. "That's disgusting."

"Tha's just doin' business," the boy replies indifferently, but there's a hint of amusement around his eyes. David glances from the human's hand to his face a few times, weighing his options, and then lets out a resigned sigh. He spits in his palm and shakes the human's hand, trying very hard not to think about the unpleasant squish of moisture between their skin. "Swell!" the boy says, beaming, and he claps David on the shoulder so hard he stumbles. "The name's Jack, by the way. Jack Kelly."

David doesn't answer for a second, preoccupied with wiping his palm on the leg of his trousers. Once he's satisfied that his hand is sufficiently freed of saliva, he looks up again. "David."

Adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder, Jack straightens the brim of his hat and grins. "So whaddya say, Davey, should we get goin'?"

* * *

For all that he's been accused of having a wild imagination, even Jack Kelly is having a hard time coming to grips with his current situation. He's been teleported by a magic candle to a foreign world. A world where stars - which are apparently humans and _not_ rocks like he'd always been told - dress like public school boys. He might think he was dreaming if he didn't know he could never come up with something this crazy.

Jack sneaks another sidelong glance at David the star. All around, he's an unassuming sort of fella, tall and thin and dark-haired. He's got a waistcoat and trousers and even a tie, like a good proper lad, even if there's dirt smudged on his shirtsleeves now. If Jack passed him on the street, he never would've guessed he was anything but human. The only thing that hints at more is that his skin, a smooth, clear pale, seems to glimmer ever-so-slightly when it catches the moonlight.

Well, that and the eyes; Jack's pretty sure no human's ever had eyes that shade of twilight blue.

"You're staring again," Davey grumbles, shooting a pointed look at him.

Jack chuckles and shrugs, not denying it. "Ya know, David's a pretty borin' name for a star. Thought you all had names like Orion and Leo and such."

The corner of Davey's mouth twitches up slightly, although he tries not to show it. "There are billions of us," he points out. "We can't all have fancy names."

"Hey, one the boys at the orphanage, he used to wear a star called David," Jack says, gesturing at his collar to signify the little necklace the boy had worn all the time. "You _that_ David?"

"No, definitely not," the star replies with a soft huff of amusement.

Jack huffs. "Shame. Woulda been fun to tell Mikey I met his star. Ah well." He trails off, and they lapse back into quiet.

Truth be told, Jack is loving this. There's something liberating about the open expanse of the forest and the isolation of being alone in the middle of it. No people shouting, no wagons clattering down the cobblestone roads. No clanging bells from the warehouses or sharp whistles in the factories or blaring horns from the ships at the harbor. Just an endless expanse of trees and sky and starlight.

It's no Santa Fe, but this place ain't half bad.

They walk through the rest of the night and into the morning. It's far from the first time Jack's been awake all night, and he's still thrumming from a mix of adrenaline and excitement that makes it feel like there's energy vibrating just beneath his skin. It's getting close to noon before he finally feels the exhaustion burning at his eyes, and he hides the first yawn in the crook of his elbow. One mile and six yawns later, he finally surrenders and turns to David.

"Christ," he hisses when his eyes land on the star. David's pale skin has gone slightly gray, with heavy shadows beneath his eyes, and he's limping. He looks one gust of wind away from keeling over. "For cryin' out loud, Davey, if you needa stop, all you gotta do is say somethin'."

"I'm fine," David counters, and then promptly staggers. Jack grabs him by the shoulder to keep him upright. "I can keep going."

"Ya look like death," Jack says. "C'mon, we can sit for a bit."

David shrugs off his hand. "No, I can keep going," he says and starts walking again, despite the obvious sway in his step.

Frowning, Jack hurries to get in front of him and stops him with a hand on the star's chest. "Whoa, what'sis about?"

"I just-" Davey huffs and pushes Jack's hand out of the way again. "The sooner we get to your guy, the sooner I can go home," he admits quietly, not meeting Jack's gaze. His tone is just like that sad, lost, hopeless look he'd had on his face that drove Jack to offer him the candle in the first place. It's an expression Jack had seen before, on boys from the home who actually came from somewhere: homesickness.

"Look, I getcha, I do," Jack says. "But you ain't gonna make it far if youse dead. And I sure ain't carryin' ya. So c'mon, I could use a nap, and you look like you could too."

David looks like he still wants to argue, but when Jack moves over to the side of the road, the star follows. Jack finds a patch of open ground where they're shielded from view of the road and drops his bag unceremoniously. He settles down into a hollow between the tree roots and leans back against the trunk, making himself comfortable. A minute later, David sits down opposite him.

"How's the leg?" Jack asks. Davey lifts an eyebrow questioningly. "Youse limpin'."

"It's fine," David says, stretching out the offending limb. At Jack's skeptical look, he adds, "It's where the necklace snagged me when it pulled me out of the sky. It's just a bruise, it'll be fine."

"Mm-hmm, sure." Jack rolls his eyes, but he doesn't push it. Instead, he tips his head back and tugs his cap down to shield his eyes. "Get some sleep, Davey."

David makes a vague, amused noise. "Never stayed up this late before," he admits.

Jack nudges the brim of his cap up again to squint across at the star in confusion, and then it hits him. "Oh, right, didn' think of that," he says. "You sleep durin' the day?"

"Well, I'd hardly sleep at night," David points out with a smirk. "Star, remember? We've got better things to do at night." The star shifts, trying to find a comfortable spot against the tree. "How are you still so awake?" he asks after a moment. "You've been up all night too."

"Not my first long night," Jack says with another shrug. David's expression shifts towards concerned, and Jack smirks. "Jobs run late, and the home didn' lemme in after dark. Couldn' always find a good place to sleep. Some neighborhoods, was safer to keep my eyes open." The star's expression flickers, this time with something like understanding mixed with pity, and Jack grunts. "Now sleep, wouldja?" Tugging his hat back down over his eyes, Jack hunkers down and lets himself drift off.

It's early evening by the time Jack blinks awake, the sun inching toward the horizon and bathing everything in shades of gold. He glances across the narrow clearing and sees Davey still fast asleep. The star is slumped down against a tree, one long leg cocked up at a sharp angle. His arms are folded loosely over his stomach, and the buttons on his waistcoat are undone. The glow of the setting sun plays along the length of his neck and across his face, which is open and relaxed in sleep. With his eyes closed and hair tousled, he looks impossibly young and serene and beautiful.

Jack shifts as something twists warm and low in his belly. He ain't naïve, and he's been around enough to know people is gonna love who they love, no matter if it's proper or not. He's seen it plenty before. There's two of Medda's dancers who've been fooling for months, and he knows for a fact there's a cop who patrols near the orphanage who's been sneakin' around with a colored warehouse worker from Queens. And of course, when you grow up in a home full of teenage boys, especially ones who feel abandoned and are a bit desperate for some affection, well, things happen.

So it doesn't surprise Jack when the thought crosses his mind. He's fooled around before, girls and boys alike, but that's all it ever is: foolin'. He's not one for romance and love at first sight and all that other sappy nonsense. The thing is, Davey is different. From the first time he laid eyes on him, there was something about him that made Jack want _more_. Davey is special and precious and deserves way better than a guy like Jack could ever give.

But just 'cause nothing can happen, doesn't mean he can't admire the view. From an artist's perspective, of course.

Jack digs into his bag, searching for a spare page of newsprint, but all he finds is the package Medda gave him. He carefully loosens the ribbon, trying not to rip the newsprint so he can use it, but he only gets halfway before a glimpse makes his heart lurch. Forgetting his caution, he tears away the newspaper. There in his hands is a brand new sketchbook, the fancy sort with a proper binding and an oiled leather cover, and a set of perfect little charcoal and wood pencils.

"Oh, Miss Medda..." He lets out a heavy breath, emotion burning at the corners of his eyes as he brushes his fingertips over the perfectly sharpened points of charcoal. They're exquisite, the sort of thing Jack has seen in store windows but never dreamt of ever owning for himself. The sort of thing a real artist would have.

The urge to create is sudden and overpowering, his fingers itching like sparks are jumping between the tips. Jack turns to the first page of the sketchbook, and he plucks one of the pencils from the bundle. Cocking one knee up to use as a table, he presses the charcoal against the paper and lets the art consume him. Sketching has always been an escape for him, a place where he can go and forget everything else in the world for a few minutes. Lines and smudges blossom on the page and come to life beneath his hand.

When he finally feels satisfied with the sketch, he sits back and surveys it in the warm light. He's always been good at drawing people, but this one might be his best. It's a sweeping contrast of layering shadows and long lines, and if the spread of Davey's legs and length of his neck are a bit _suggestive_ , well, it's only for Jack to see anyway. He gives the sketch one last critical look, smudging a bit of charcoal to deepen the shadow cast by the star's Adam's apple, and then he packs away his art supplies with a careful reverence.

A painful clench in his abdomen reminds Jack that he hasn't eaten in over a day. He rechecks his bag quickly, but there's nothing in there to eat. They'll have to find something soon; he's gone longer without food, but he's not keen on repeating the experience, and he doesn't want to subject David to that feeling. Hopefully there's a town or something up ahead.

Jack glances at the sun to check the time and frowns. David said that stars are awake at night, but they've probably got another two hours until sunset. The prospect of sitting there for two hours while his stomach growls is not pleasant. If it's not too far, he can probably get to the next town, get them something to eat, and still be back before Davey wakes up. Jack clambers up eagerly and slings his bag over his shoulder. He's never been one to hold still for long anyway, and he's still humming with that same vibrant energy he's felt ever since the night before.

Grabbing up the discarded newspaper from the package, Jack smooths it down and writes a quick note in the margins to let Davey know where he's gone, just in case the star wakes up early. He tucks the folded paper into the pocket of David's shirt and then sets off down the road.

Jack is two miles away and none-the-wiser when a gust of wind tugs the note from David's pocket and drags it into the bushes.

* * *

David wakes slowly and reluctantly, the few hours of sleep not leaving him satisfied. He's far from comfortable in his slump on the hard ground, but he keeps his eyes shut, clinging to the last traces of sleep. It's nighttime now - he can feel it in his skin like the familiar warmth of a favorite blanket. They should get moving soon if they want to cover a lot of ground, but Jack hasn't woken him up yet so surely a few extra minutes can't hurt.

Speaking of Jack, David can admit to himself that he was a bit harsh on the human the night before. Davey was scared and in pain, and he had taken it out on Jack. Meanwhile, the human boy has been nothing but friendly - bar the crashing into him, and the gross handshake - and he offered to help even when he didn't need to. Jack could've just taken the candle and disappeared off to wherever he was going. The least Davey can do is be grateful.

Which is precisely the moment David opens his eyes and realizes Jack is gone.

"Jack?" Davey calls out, bolting to his feet despite the ache in his injured leg. He searches the clearing, but there's no sign of the human apart from a depression in the grass and leaves where Jack had been sitting. "Jack!"

He left. David feels like he shouldn't be surprised - it never made sense for Jack to go out of his way to help him in the first place - but somehow he's still stung. He wants to believe Jack is better than that, but he can't escape the facts. Jack is gone; probably realized David is more trouble than he's worth and used the Babylon candle for himself.

Davey is alone, and his best chance at getting home is gone. Again, humanity _sucks_.

The bushes rustle, and David spins on his heel, heart racing. "Jack?" he asks tentatively. There's no response except for more shuffling, moving closer. David is just considering whether it's worth making a run for it when the branches on the other side of the clearing part and in steps an enormous, white unicorn. Davey lets out a sigh of relief, "Oh, thank goodness."

The unicorn huffs and approaches David, nudging its nose against his shoulder. He grins and rubs at the lean, white neck; unicorns are children of the moon, just like him, and finding a kindred spirit is a welcome comfort. "It's so good to see you," Davey says.

Stepping back, the unicorn sinks to its knees and David settles behind its shoulders gratefully. His injured leg is aching worse than the night before, and he wasn't looking forward to walking on it all night. The unicorn stands carefully and then turns back to the road, setting off at a decent pace. David threads his hands in the unicorn's mane, trusting it to know the way out of the forest, and he lets his mind wander.

He needs to find another way home. He can't stay in Stormhold, that's for sure. The emptiness of being away from his family is almost painful. The familiarity of the unicorn soothes it slightly, and he knows that there are other creatures of the moon out there - selkies and wraith sprites and naiads - that he could find as well, but it won't replace the feeling of belonging he gets from his own kind. He might never have felt strongly connected to his siblings, but anything is better than this throbbing nothingness.

The only question is _how_ to get there. If he's lucky, maybe he can find another Babylon candle in one of the town markets, or a warlock with some other idea of how to get him home. There has to be something. Anything.

They have been riding for nearly an hour when the first raindrops start to slip down through the canopy of leaves. The trees shield him from the weather for a bit, but it doesn't take long before the rain is coming down too hard. By the time the edge of the forest finally comes into view, David is completely soaked through and shivering, huddling down against the unicorn's neck in a desperate bid for warmth.

The trees end at fields of grass, and up ahead, the road they are on intersects with another wide dirt track. Sitting beside the crossroads is a small, squat inn with warm, golden firelight flickering behind its downstairs windows. Davey's heart picks up as the unicorn makes a run for it, sliding to a stop just in front of the wooden door. He clambers down, stroking the unicorn's neck in gratitude, and then knocks.

Several long seconds pass - David huddles in the frame and squints up at the inn sign, which depicts a large globe over a yellow banner - before the door is opened by an older man with a bushy mustache and narrowed eyes. The man takes one look at Davey and immediately steps back, gesturing the dripping star inside.

"Thank you," David says. The man shuts the door behind him, and the change in temperature is immediate. "I'm sorry if I woke you," Davey adds, remembering that it's late for humans. "I just need a place to sit until the rain stops."

"No, o'course," the man says. "That's what we're here for. Let's get them clothes dried so you can warm up." The man heads for the stairs, shouting down the hall, "Oscar, Morris, get the fire stoked up and fetch this boy somethin' warm to drink, wouldja?" Then he continues up to the second floor with David on his heels. The door to the first room is opened, and a pair of lanterns burn brightly on either side of a large bed with a thick woolen quilt. David nearly melts at the sight of it.

"Here," the man says, opening a wardrobe and fetching out a dressing gown. "Get out of them wet things. You can hang 'em here, so they dry," he adds and points to the low screen perched in front of the room's little fireplace. "Once youse changed, come down and we'll find you somethin' warm to eat."

"Thank you so much, mister-"

"Wiesel," the innkeeper supplies. "I'll let you get dressed." And if the man's smile is a little stilted and awkward, Davey dismisses it as the late hour as he turns to get out of his wet clothes.

* * *

It's well past sundown by the time Jack is heading back to the clearing where he left Davey. His trip took longer than expected and he's half-jogging to get back. The little trail that branched off the main road was marked with a barely visible sign, and after a couple miles Jack finally stumbled across a tiny village tucked away beside a pond.

Actually getting his hands on some food wasn't any easier; it had taken a lot of asking around and begging before he found a farmer willing to help him. After learning that Jack was an artist, he traded Jack food for a sketch of his young daughter. The little girl, all bright eyes and blonde curls, had been so thrilled with the drawing that the farmer even tossed in an extra pair of bread rolls.

Feeling confident and more than a little proud, Jack is beaming when he finally gets back to the clearing, the tree beside the road marked with the bit of ribbon from Medda's gift. "Hey Davey," he calls as he pushes his way through the branches. "You 'wake? I got food." He slides around a bush and then stops short.

The clearing is empty.

"Davey?" Jack calls, darting across the open patch. This is definitely the right place, he recognizes it, but there's no sign of the star. "David! Where are you?" Jack checks all around the clearing and into the shrubbery around it, but he finds nothing. His heart is hammering in his chest when he staggers back into the clearing and his eyes catch on something on the ground; scuffed prints, overlapping and unfamiliar. Jack is no expert in tracking or anything, but it's enough to tell him that there was someone or something else here. "Davey!"

Jack flinches when he hears a faint whisper of sound, impossibly quiet and unintelligible but close, like someone is breathing the words against the back of his neck. He pivots when it happens again, but he's alone. "Who's'at?" he shouts, drawing himself up with all the daring he can muster.

_"Help him..."_ The whisper brushes along the back of his skull, thin and immaterial, and it feels more like it's coming from inside his head than out. _"Save our brother..."_ An impression of bright spots of light flickers in his head and Jack looks skyward in surprise. The stars? But that can't be possible, right? At the same moment he thinks it, another stream of fractured images roll through his head, accompanied by ethereal voices.

" _Danger,_ " a leaping of his heart, fear; " _the last star to fall, Sarah_ ," an image of a smiling young woman with dark curls and a familiar shimmer to her skin; " _they carved out her heart_ ," a glittering knife of obsidian glass and a piercing, terrified scream. " _Save him. There's a carriage._ " A blurred motion of horses and wood against the backdrop of the forest. " _Find it. Save him._ "

Jack's focus comes back as the voices fade and he realizes he's fallen to his knees at some point, clutching his head in his hands. It takes a moment to shake away the lingering vertigo, but he can't dislodge the panic that has taken root in his chest. He clambers upright, leaning hard against a tree until he's sure his feet will support him, and then takes off running. He needs to find that carriage. He needs to find Davey before-

Jack is barely three steps onto the road when a clatter of sound grabs his attention. Immediately, he pinwheels backward and narrowly avoids being run over by a horse-drawn carriage. He trips over a tree root and ends up sprawled on his back as the carriage skids to a stop ahead. Before he can even think to find his feet, there is a sword pointed at his chest. "Whoa, hey, easy there!"

"Who sent you?"

It's at that moment Jack finally takes a good look at the person holding the sword; it's a girl. She can't be much older than him, if at all, and her fierce expression is ringed in a halo of bright red curls. Her high-waisted dress is pinned up at one hip, revealing a stocking and boot, and while there's something polished and classy about her, the gleam in her eyes and steadiness of her hand is enough to make him decide it's best not to test her.

"Look, no one sent me nowhere," Jack says, holding his palms out in a universal sign of surrender. "I'm just lookin' for a ride. So couldja-?" He glances pointedly at the sword tip hovering over his sternum. The girl doesn't move, her expression challenging him. Jack deflates slightly. "Please, I'm just tryna find my friend. I didn' even know you was comin'." It's a lie, sort of, but she doesn't need to know that.

The girl eyes him suspiciously for a minute more, and then she steps back, lowering her sword. Jack lets out a relieved breath and stands, dusting the dirt from his trousers. "Name's Jack Kelly," he offers.

"Good for you," she drawls, sardonic and already turning away dismissively. "Now go tell someone who cares."

"Wait, what's'a girl doin' out in the woods middle of the night anyway?" he asks, glancing at the carriage and seeing it's empty.

In the next second, the sword is pointed at him again and Jack instinctively takes a step back. "Now would be a good time to shut up," the girl says with a mischievous curl to her lips. "The rules are changing and a woman is just as capable as anyone."

"Don' need to tell me," Jack says, shrugging. "Ain't nobody cross Miss Medda, she taught me that young. Strongest person I know." Something in the girl's expression seems to soften and Jack pulls out his most disarming grin. "You got a name?"

"Katherine," she replies, falters slightly, and finishes, "Plumber." Jack raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, and she says, "I've changed my name. It's a family thing." She sheathes her sword and surveys him thoughtfully. "You said you're looking for a friend?"

Jack swallows as the panic from before surges up in his stomach. "He's gone missing," he says. "I think someone nabbed him and I just-" Jack trails off, sweeping off his cap to scratch at his hair anxiously.

Katherine clears her throat and lifts her chin. "Well, come on, then," she says, and without another word, she turns and climbs back onto the bench of her carriage. "I'm not in the habit of picking up strangers," she tosses over her shoulder. "So hurry up before I change my mind." Jack stares at her in surprise for a second and then scrambles up onto the other side. Katherine flicks the reins and the carriage lurches forward.

"Thank you," Jack says after they're moving. "I'm worried 'bout Davey."

"Your friend?" Katherine prompts curiously. "You said he's gone missing."

Jack nods. "I go to find food, and when I come back, he's gone. Nothin' but a bunch of footprints and scuffs. I dunno what happened. He can't've gone far alone, his leg's hurt, but if someone took him..." He clears his throat and tugs his cap on, shoving his fear back behind the walls of his bravado. "Was my job to keep an eye on him."

"I'm sorry," Katherine says, and it sounds so genuine and compassionate that something lodges in Jack's throat. He glances sideways and surveys the girl again; she's a plum, no doubt. Beautiful and smart, and independent to boot. In another time or place, she's exactly the sorta girl Jack would go for, but he can't think about that while the worry over Davey is still tugging in his chest. Still, don't mean she don't fascinate him.

"Really, though, what's a girl like you doin' out here?" Jack asks. As a steely light flashes in her eyes, he adds, "Not _'cause_ youse a girl. Just, you're obs'ly well off and smart and such. So what gets someone like you out in the forest in the middle the night? What's'is 'bout for you?"

Katherine looked sideways at him, her gaze considering. "I'm looking for the Gem of Stormhold." The statement is obviously meant to have some significance, judging by the emphasis in her tone, but Jack has no idea what that is. Katherine shakes her head. "You're not from here, are you?"

"Ya caught me," Jack says, grinning. "I'm from the other side the Wall. Ended up here by accident."

"Really?" Katherine asks and her eyes go wide, curious and eager. "I'd love to hear about it, I've always wondered about what things are like on the other side of the Wall."

"Less weird than this place," says Jack. The temperature has dropped drastically since they started and he wraps his arms around his middle, tucking his hands into his armpits to keep his fingers warm. "So what's'is gem thing?"

"The Gem of Stormhold is what decides who will rule," Katherine says. "There are five royal families in Stormhold with a claim to the throne. Every hundred years, the Gem disappears, and the children of the families have to find it. Whoever gets to it first is the one who will lead Stormhold for the next hundred years."

"And youse one of these kids," Jack concludes. "You wanna be in charge this place?"

Katherine's lips settle into a firm, white line. "Stormhold needs change," she says resolutely. "We've lived far too long by supporting our world on a broken system of corruption and slavery. People are convinced it's for the best, and that changing it would be more trouble than it's worth, but we can't keep lying to ourselves." She sighs and shakes her head. "I've tried to make plans and propose ideas for how to start fixing things, but I don't have the political pull to make people take me seriously."  
  
"'Cause youse a girl?" Jack guesses. Her scowl is answer enough. "But ain't you some kinda royalty? Thought that meant people gots ta' do whatcha says."   
  
"Remember that family thing I mentioned?" she intones dryly. "I haven't been shy about my opinions and my family didn't approve, so I've burnt those bridges pretty thoroughly over the last few years. So now I don't have the family connections to rely on anymore and no one wants to listen to a girl with big ideas. That's why I have to be the one to find the Gem. Once I have that, once they see I'm worthy of the throne, then I can show them that there's a better way."

Jack watches her in amazement, awed by the brilliant flare of righteous fury and purpose that takes over her expression. For a minute, he can see it; a girl with the will to make people listen, to actually rule the world. He lets out an appreciative whistle and Katherine shoots him a look, but she can't entirely stop the ghost of a smile that tips the corner of her mouth. "So whatcha been sayin' that's got people all huffy?" he asks, and then Medda's story comes back to him, clicking a few pieces into place. "Got somethin' to do with the folks with the flickers?"

"Flickers?" Katherine asks, bemused.

Chuckling, Jack explains, "Miss Medda, she's the one that told me 'bout this place, she said that there's people sold for the flickers under their skin. She said it's like magic but not really." He pointedly leaves out the part where he is apparently one of those people.

"Oh, the Fey kind," Katherine says. "Yes, that's what upsets people. The Fey are born with an inclination to magic. They can't necessarily control it, though, it's the sort of thing that takes years of practice and study. Most of the time they develop a sort of instinctive gift, we call it a Knack, and while active control is out of their grasp, that potential is there.

"Ages ago, Fey born into wealthy families were given training and status, so they could master their skills and find ways to make it better for everyone. That was the whole purpose of the warlock's guild when it was formed, but now it's changed. Instead of sharing their techniques and abilities, they created ways to control and siphon the magic of other Fey. Now we've got a society built upon treating the Fey like livestock."

"You wanna stop it?"

"It's cruel that these people are enslaved simply for being born," she says vehemently. "They are humans, just like any of us. And I mean, just think of what we could accomplish if, instead of oppressing these people, we allowed them to reach their potential. If all of the Fey were given a chance to learn to control and use their gifts to help. A purpose for every Knack. We could build an entirely new world, something better for everyone."

"A world where everybody matters," Jack finishes in awe, feeling that familiar longing in his chest that always accompanies his dreams of Santa Fe. He grins at Katherine. "You're really somethin', Plumber."

A flush of pleasure brightens her cheeks despite Katherine's obvious attempt to remain impassive. "What about you?" she asks. "Who is Jack Kelly? What are you doing here?"

"Just tryna get home," he says, shrugging.

"What brought you to Stormhold?" Katherine presses.

Jack laughs. "Bit of magic backfired," he admits. "Was tryin' to get somewhere else." He flinches as something cold splashes on the back of his neck; he couldn't hear it over the sound of the carriage wheels, but it started raining at some point. The drops are snaking in through the tree cover, coming quicker and harder. "Oh great," Jack mutters, hugging his bag against his chest to shield it from the weather. Katherine doesn't respond except to snap the reins again, urging the horses on faster.

* * *

David sinks further into the plush leather of the armchair, letting the warmth of the fire wash over him. The dressing robe lent to him by the innkeeper is thick and soft against his skin. His feet are propped on the mantle, his toes going pink from the heat of the flames. A bowl of hearty stew sits heavy in his belly and he's been nursing a large mug of cider. Between the food and the warmth, he's hovering in that hazy area between awake and asleep.

"How's the leg?" The voice startles Davey back towards consciousness and he looks up to see Mr. Wiesel standing over him. The star sits forward and flexes his foot experimentally, surprised by the lack of pain. Mr. Wiesel must see the answer in his face because he huffs in amusement. "Told you that stuff worked wonders."

"It's incredible," David says eagerly. After catching a glimpse of the violet-red welts that looped around David's calf, the innkeeper had insisted on treating it. The salve he'd used before bandaging it had tingled deep through his skin, a strange, disjointed prickling that faded into numbness. Now, Davey feels good as new. Better, actually, than he's felt since arriving in Stormhold.

"I'm glad," Mr. Wiesel says with that same stilted half-smile. "Ya look like you feel bedda. How'd ya get a mark like that anyway?" David shifts uncertainly, one hand dipping into the pocket of the dressing gown where he stowed the necklace. He still has no idea what it is, but something tells him that it's important. Besides, anything with the power to get him out of the sky might somehow have enough to get him back.

Before either of them can say anything more, there's a knock at the door that startles the star. The innkeeper looks annoyed by the interruption but he quickly covers it with a grin. "The fire should be stoked up in your room," he says to David. "Why don't we get you settled?"

David stands, pleased when his leg doesn't even twinge at the weight, and lets Wiesel shepherd him up the staircase. "Boys, deal with our new guests, would you?" the innkeeper adds to the pair of boys hovering behind the bar.

David is just about to step into the lodging room when a voice from below makes him freeze. "Whoa, bud, what's ya problem?" Ducking around Wiesel, the star darts back to the railing and looks down into the common room. Wiesel's boys are standing on either side of the inn door, scowling and gripping the arms of the rain-soaked newcomers. One is a beautiful redheaded girl, and the other is-

"Jack?" Davey asks in surprise.

Jack's gaze snaps upward and a rush of relief washes over the human's features. "Davey, Christ, there ya are," he says and grins. In the next moment, his smile morphs into a wince as one of Wiesel's boys twists Jack's arm around behind his back.

David moves to help but a hand closes around his arm and a sudden thrill of terror shoots down his spine when he feels something cold and sharp pressed against his throat. "Davey!" Jack shouts and then hisses when his arm is tugged again. His eyes slip past Davey and he snarls, "Don'tcha dare hurt him."

"You think I'm scared of you?" Wiesel taunts sarcastically. "My orders come from way higher up the food-chain."

"Pulitzer." It's the girl who says it, her tone cold and furious. "What does he want with a kid?"

"Because, Lady Katherine, he ain't no ordinary kid, are ya?" Wiesel says and the star flinches away as much as he can, feeling the blade at his neck snag on his skin. "Nah, see, pretty boy here is a star. And his majesty wants this kid's heart."

"No!" Jack shoves back, managing to get his arm free, but in the next second, the crony punches him in the jaw. There are large, brass rings on each of his fingers and the hit sends Jack sprawling. The guy punches Jack twice more before kneeling on his chest, arm cocked in a pointed warning.

"This woulda been so much better a few minutes ago," says Wiesel. "The heart of a happy star 'pparently works better." He turns, shoving Davey up against the wall, a hand on his throat. The knife, an enormous, wicked looking thing with a blade as dark as oil, comes around to rest against his chest. David can hear both Jack and the girl shouting, but their words seem oddly muffled through the pounding of his heart in his ears. "Guess your scared little heart will have to do."

"Davey!" Jack's cry is lost beneath a sudden flash of blue-white light and pressure. David is kept upright by the wall at his back, but Wiesel is thrown backward, pitching over the railing with a shout. It takes a moment to blink away the spots in his vision, but as soon as he can see well enough, David sprints for the stairs.

On the main floor, Jack is grappling with the goon, doing everything he can to keep the guy from getting a good grip on his neck. The girl - Lady Katherine, apparently - is fighting with her own captor, but before Davey can think of helping, she manages to twist and land a kick into the goon's crotch. David runs at the guy crouched on Jack's chest, tackling the guy aside, so they both fall in a tangle.

Jack hauls Davey back by the collar of the robe, kicking at the goon one more time for good measure. "Davey, you okay?" Jack asks, breathless, and wipes at the blood dripping from his nose.

"Yeah," David answers, standing and offering a hand up. The girl walks over at the same time and David glances at her uncertainly. "Hi."

"Nice to meet you," Katherine says with a quick smile. "We should go." They turn toward the door only to see that the two goons have gotten back on their feet and are blocking the exit. Wiesel extricates himself from where he landed behind the bar and he looms, a sudden menacing spark in his eyes and the now-chipped knife clutched in a white-knuckled fist.

"Ya know, I was so nice to ya, kid," Wiesel snarls. "All o' that, and _this_ is what I get for it?" Jack steps in front of Davey and the girl, arms out to shield them as the three of them slowly retreat from the prowling innkeeper. Just as the star glances hopefully toward the nearest window, dark, emerald flames erupt along the sill. They spiral around the room, blocking off every door and window with towering green-black fire. Davey's heart drops into his stomach; they're trapped.

"I'm gonna enjoy this," Wiesel says with a sadistic grin, adjusting his grip on the obsidian knife. "'Tween the price for your heart and the bounty on the li'l lady here, I'm set. And you," he gestures at Jack, "well, I've been thinkin' about getting a new Fey for years. Won't be hard ta' break you down after you watch me carve out your little boyfriend's heart."

"Davey, Kath, hold onto me," Jack hisses. He doesn't give David an option, one of his arms wrapping around the star's waist to pull him tight against his body. Opposite, the girl glances down with wide eyes and then throws her arms around Jack's neck. Jack looks at David, and the fierce intensity of his gaze makes the star's breath catch. "Think of home," Jack whispers into his ear.

And that's when David sees what Jack is holding in his other hand: the Babylon candle. David's heart leaps as thoughts of home fill his head, just as Jack stretches out and plunges his hand into the flames over the window. Jack's scream of pain and Wiesel's furious bellow are washed away in the rush of sound as the three of them disappear in a blinding, white light.


	2. The Infamous Captain Conlon

The vertigo from traveling by the candle is almost completely drowned out by the pain in Jack's burnt hand and the painful tug around his neck from where Katherine is clinging to him. As his vision starts to clear, the sense of vertigo doesn't fade, and he wavers on his feet. It doesn't seem like the other two are doing any better than him, both swaying into him. The rain is thrashing at them like buckets of ice and Jack has to squint to even see anything through the waves of water.

"Jesus Christ!" he yelps, instinctively tightening the arm around Davey's waist. His brain is having trouble processing what exactly he's seeing, but it looks very much like–

"Are we on a cloud?!" Katherine shouts in his ear. Her arms clench around his neck hard enough to make breathing difficult. "How are we on a cloud? _Why_ are we on a cloud?"

"Dunce!" David says, shoving away from Jack. Despite Jack's panic, none of them abruptly fall through the squishy cloud below their feet, which is something so weird he doesn't even want to think about it right now. "You said 'think of home,' so you thought of your home, and I thought of mine, and now we're somewhere in the middle!"

"Why'd – Kath, I can't breathe," he rasps, and she finally lets go of his neck only to latch onto his arm painfully. "Why'd you think o' _your_ home?" Jack asks, turning his attention back to the star, who is unflinchingly pacing along the opposite edge of the cloud.

"I was panicking!" Davey shouts, wheeling on Jack. "If you didn't notice, a guy just tried to cut my heart out. I wasn't exactly thinking straight, okay? Maybe you should've been more specific."

"Specific?" Jack yells incredulously. "Guy with a knife, remember?"

A blade of lightning shoots through the clouds above them, and Katherine screams, drawing closer to Jack's side. "Can we talk about this another time? Like maybe when we're not standing on a cloud in the middle of a thunderstorm?" she yelps, white with fear.

"And how's we s'pose to get down?" Jack snaps. He glances towards the edge of the cloud but this high up, he can't see anything except more layers of frothy gray clouds below them. "'Cause if youse got an idea, I'd love to- _gah_!" A sudden massive weight falls over him and then tugs, scooping all three of them up in a tangle of limbs and rope. Jack can't tell which way is up as they tumble over each other, yelping as sharp elbows jab and heads knock together. A minute later, they're dumped in a heap on a hard surface.

Jack peers up through the web of ropes to find a circle of faces peering back. It's nearly impossible to make out any features since they're all wearing slickers and hats or goggles. One of them steps forward and leers. "Look a'this, boys," he says, his voice a heavy drawl even as he half-shouts over the sound of the storm. "Nabbed ourselves a coupla lightnin' thieves. And they brought us a pretty bird, too."

Jeers go up from the crowd. "We ain't thieves!" Jack says. He finally manages to find the edge of the net and tosses it aside, only to find himself facing a dozen or so swords.

The first one, who must be their leader, sneers and crouches down in front of him. "Yeah, sure you ain't," he says. "Youse just up in a storm for the fun o' it." He straightens up and gestures to a few of the others. "Racer, Specs, dump these fellas in the brig. Give 'em a minute ta' cool off. And Finch, why doncha show the skirt ta' my cabin? Rest o' youse, back ta' work."

Hands reach and pull, tugging Katherine one direction and the boys another. Katherine doesn't go without a fight, kicking and screaming. Jack's threats are ignored as the crew members twist his arms up behind his back and bind his wrists tightly. Davey gets the same treatment, and the two of them are shoved to the far end of what Jack can now tell is some sort of honest-to-God pirate ship.

A door opens, and the hands at his back push so hard Jack falls to his knees in the room. It looks like it's used more for storage than anything, boxes and barrels arranged around the walls. The two crewmen steer Jack and Davey to a large crate, sitting them back-to-back and lashing their bound hands together with another length of rope.

"Make ya'selves comfy," one of the crewman says, words garbled around the unlit cigar clamped between his teeth. The voice startles Jack, and he realizes that the pirate's just a kid, probably not much younger than Jack. Around the goggles, his pale skin is liberally freckled. The other guy with him is considerably taller and dark-skinned, hovering back with his arms crossed over his chest. "And welcome 'board the Brooklyn," Cigar Kid finishes with a mocking bow, "compliments of Cap'n Conlon."

And as the two turn for the door, Jack hears the kid with the cigar mutter, "Five-to-one, Cap stomps them." The taller kid joins in his laughter as the door shuts with a snap.

Jack is a live wire, every muscle locked up with the need to be expelling this furious energy and no way to get it out. His mind is racing with scenarios, planning ahead and trying not to imagine what is going to happen to them. And then Davey sighs and slumps against his back, and Jack feels some of the tension drain out of him. Things have been so chaotic since, but it finally really sinks in that he found the star and that he's alive, at least for the time being.

"Davey, you a'right?" he asks, just to be sure.

"Considering someone was trying to cut my heart out less than an hour ago, I'm swell," Davey replies, and Jack huffs a laugh. David exhales again and shrugs his shoulders, trying to shift them into a more comfortable position. The movement makes the ropes rub at the burns on Jack's hand, and he hisses through his teeth. "Are you alright?" Davey asks, twisting his head to try and see Jack in his peripherals.

"Eh, m'good," Jack says. "That fire was hot is all." David hums but doesn't say anything; Jack jumps in surprise when a pair of cold hands close awkwardly around his fingers, the damp skin soothing some of the heat. Of course, the contact does nothing for the heat that blossoms once again in his stomach, but that's a problem for another time. Jack sighs heavily and lets his head fall back onto David's shoulder. "M'sorry."

"What for?" Davey asks curiously.

"The candle," says Jack, and his stomach twists with guilt. "Was s'posed to use it to getcha home."

David laughs. "Well since you used it to get me away from a crazed warlock that wanted to kill me, I think it can be forgiven."

"What's'is thing about your heart anyway?" Jack asks.

The hands slip off Jack's, and he feels the loss of contact somewhere deeper that he won't acknowledge. David clears his throat. "Immortality," he says. "I've heard stories about it happening before. If people consume the heart of a star, it can make them live, well, not forever, but long enough to make it feel like it."

A shudder of disgust rolls down Jack's spine, and he tastes bile at the back of his throat. "Consume? Ya mean like _eat_?! What kinda crazy person'd eat someone's heart? That's disgusting!"

Davey's shoulders relax back against Jack. "Yeah, I guess I'm lucky it was you that found me first then."

"Dunno how lucky we is," Jack scoffs. "Firs' the warlock, now sky pirates. We ain't doin' so good so far."

"Fair point," David agrees with a laugh. "This place hasn't been much fun, I can see why you're so eager to get away. What's that place you wanted to go again?"

"Santa Fe," Jack answers and he can't stop the instinctive smile.

"What's so special about Santa Fe?" Davey asks. The majority of the time when Jack hears that question, it's condescending or skeptical, but the star just sounds genuinely curious. "You got family there?"

Jack snorts. "Don't got family nowhere." He shrugs and shifts his head on Davey's shoulder, and when the star doesn't seem bothered by it, Jack lets his muscles uncoil. "Nah, just gotta get away from the city. Can't stay there no more. All the noise and people and awful stuff. I wanna get somewhere I can see the sky and the stars." He chuckles and bumps his forehead against Davey's jaw. "Ya know, otha stars."

David makes an amused noise. "Yeah, I guess," he says. "Just - I don't know, that sounds less like going somewhere and more like running away."

"What's the diff'rence?"

"Well, I mean, so I've been watching humanity for a long time," says David. "I've seen people going around and having adventures and finding their place. And it just seems to me like the ones that are running away from something, those people never really find the _right_ place, you know?" Jack hums noncommittally, shoving the thought away because he doesn't want to think about it. He's not running away from New York; he's following his dreams of Santa Fe. It's not the same thing.

Davey sighs and lets his head tip back onto Jack's shoulder, mirroring his position. "It's kind of funny, really," he muses. "All these years, I wanted nothing more than to have one of those adventures I watched people having. Back home, I'm just one of a billion. Nothing to make me different from any of my brothers or sisters. I knew where I belonged but I never really fit, you know? I always dreamed of going on my own adventure." He huffs wryly. "Guess that's why they say be careful what you wish for."

Jack grabs Davey's hand and squeezes. "M'sorry, Davey," he says. "I never shoulda dragged you into this. Shoulda just give ya the candle. You'd be home safe now if it weren't for me."

"Yeah, right back to my boring life. And you'd be trapped in Stormhold with no way home and no way to Santa Fe," the star replies. "It's not your fault. Besides, you aren't safe here either, are you?" In the corner of his eye, Jack can see David shooting a meaningful glance at him. "That light, back at the inn, the one that pushed Wiesel away. That was you, wasn't it? You're a Fey?"

"Stupid word for it," Jack grumbles. David prods him with an elbow. "Yeah, I guess so. I didn't - I mean, I didn't do it on purpose or nothin'. I just - he was gonna kill you."

"I can't believe you're Fey," says David. "You said you're from the other side of the Wall."

Jack grunts. "I grew up o'er there," he says. "But I was born here. Least, that's what Miss Medda says. Says I was one o' them kids that got sold for being kinda magic 'fore she snuck me over the Wall."

"Jack, I-" Davey trails off. "I'm sorry."

"S'fine. Don't remember none it." Jack exhales through his nose. "On'y thing I wish I-" He bites off the end of the sentence, swallowing back the confession. He doesn't open up to people, doesn't talk about this feelings stuff, and the fact that talking to Davey is so easy almost scares him. It only gets worse when David's hand shifts in his, their fingers loosely threaded together as Davey makes a noise to prompt him on. "I had a brotha," Jack admits. "A kid brotha that didn't make it, and I don't even remember him."

Davey is silent, and Jack waits for the judgment. He waits for David to turn away, be repulsed, or worst of all, to pity him. Jack can't stand pity. Instead, Davey just tips his head until his damp forehead lands against Jack's cheek. Beyond the door, the sounds of the storm rage on, interspersed with shouts and bangs of the sailors working.

"We are in trouble here, aren't we?" Davey asks.

Jack huffs a laugh. "Oh yeah, we's proper fixed." And honestly, the feeling in Jack's chest when he realizes that Davey hasn't let go of his hand tells him that he's got far more problems than just sky pirates.

* * *

The sound of the door slamming off the wall jerks Davey from his doze and he feels Jack snap upright as well. They both twist to face the newcomer, and David's eyes widen in surprise. Finding out some of the pirates are kids was shocking enough, but this takes the cake: their captain is too. The boy standing in the doorway is short, at least a full head shorter than David. He's ditched the raingear, and now he's wearing just a sleeveless top and breeches that expose a compact, muscular build.

"Mornin', gents," the leader says, his drawling accent loud in the small room. The two pirates that brought them in are flanking their captain, leaning against either side of the closed door with their arms folded over their chest. The captain slowly draws a sword from the sheath at his waist and rests the blade on his shoulder, grinning dangerously. "I hope youse feelin' more helpful than the skirt."

Jack snarls, leaning as far forward as he can with his hands still tied to David's. "If ya hurt her-"

The captain – Conlon, the pirates had called him earlier – levels the point of his sword with Jack's throat, eyes flashing. "You betta watch ya mouth there," the shorter man growls. "I don't take kind ta' threats."

"Look, we don't want trouble," Davey interrupts because he can feel Jack vibrating with tension. "This is just a misunderstanding."

"Ya know what I think this is?" the captain says, and he doesn't move his sword even as he turns to look at Davey. "I think youse a couple two-bit lightnin' thieves tryna step in on my turf."

"Please, we're not thieves," David insists. "We didn't mean to end up here, it was an accident."

"An ax'dent?" the captain echoes mockingly, and the pirate with the cigar chuckles. "Right. You s'pect me ta' believe youse guys got up in a storm on ax'dent? Nah, I don' think so." He leans in and lowers his voice to a hiss, " _Play ya parts and none youse gotta get hurt._ "

"So here's how it's gonna go," Captain Conlon says, straightening up and raising his voice again. "Here on the Brooklyn, there's no mercy for thieves. Should drop ya off with the Bulls next time we make lan'fall. Pay's good for Refuge runaways. Would make a nice bonus for my boys." Beyond the door, there's an uproar of approval, and David abruptly realizes why the captain's been half-shouting the whole time.

"But the thing is, I recognize a Scab when I see one," Conlon practically snarls. Outside, the crowd boos loudly. "And I sure ain't gonna have dirty four-flusha's like that on my ship. Now your li'l lady friend, her I can make use of, but youse two-?"

"Don'tcha dare!" Jack shouts, thrashing so hard against his bonds that it almost knocks Davey over. "Keep youse hands off her, or I swear to God-" The punch rebounds Jack's head off the back of Davey's skull and effectively stuns them both. Someone cuts the ropes tying the two together, and the tall, black pirate hauls Davey to his feet.

Meanwhile, Captain Conlon has dragged Jack upright by his collar. "Pretty sure I warned ya," the captain sneers viciously, and he flicks the point of his sword up to Jack's chest, "to watch ya mouth." With a wicked grin, the captain thrusts forward and drives his sword straight through Jack's chest.

" _No!_ "

Jack's eyes go wide with surprise as he glances down at the sword, frowning like he can't quite process what he's seeing. When the captain pulls his blade free, Jack staggers back against a cluster of barrels and, without his hands to catch himself, crumples to the ground. There is a dark spot spreading across his shirt and a ribbon of scarlet bubbles over the corner of his mouth. He seizes twice and then goes still, eyes wide and vacant.

"You killed him!" David screams, furious and terrified. "You killed him, you _murderer!_ "

A blow to the jaw snaps David's head back and silences him. "No, Scabs like you what sells out youse own kind are the killa's," the captain growls. Captain Conlon raises his sword again, the silver coated in dark blood that drips to the floor. Davey tries to pull away, but the tall pirate has him trapped. He watches as the sword levels with his sternum and then, as if in slow motion, surges forward. David squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for the pain, and waits.

And waits.

Confused, Davey squints down. Sure enough, there's the hilt of a sword resting against his breastbone, and the white of his shirt is turning dark in a slowly expanding circle, but somehow there is no pain. There are no sensations at all apart from a strange, disjointed touch against the outer curve of his ribs. David glances, and for the briefest second, he can see something thin and dark there, resting in the gap between his arm and chest; he blinks, and it's gone again.

David looks up, and the captain gives him a significant look before drawing his arm back. The star watches in wonder as the sword emerges from his chest, blade streaked with gore, but he still feels nothing.

And suddenly, he realizes what he's supposed to do: _Play ya parts._

David coughs and stumbles back into the pirate behind him. The hands on his arms loosen, and Davey falls, smacking his shoulder hard on the floor. He gasps for breath and then curls over onto his front, burying his face against the wooden planks and letting his body go slack.

"Race, Specs, clean up this trash, wouldja?" the captain says. David keeps his eyes closed, but he can hear as Conlon stomps across the room and flings the door open. There's a hasty scurry of footsteps as the crewmen gathered on the other side of the door scramble to get out of his way. "Don'tcha forget, this is what happens to Feys what turn on they own kind," Captain Conlon announces loudly. "Now don'tcha all got jobs to be doin'? I'm gonna go have a chat with our new guest. Interrupt me and I'mma toss you overboard."

There are layering cheers and laughter from the deck as the pirates head back to their work until someone shuts the door and cuts off the majority of the noise. Davey holds as still as he can, trying not to breathe and also trying not to panic. The floorboards vibrate as someone approaches, and then there's a hand on his back. "Don't say nothin'," the voice whispers and then the ropes around David's wrist are cut away. "Keep quiet and we'll getcha outta here."

Davey dares to pry one eye open just a bit, and he sees the black pirate crouched next to him, one hand still resting on the star's shoulder. He offers an encouraging smile and uses the back of his other wrist to push the thick-lensed glasses he's wearing back up his nose. The pirate puts a finger to his lips and then stands up, helping David up at the same time.

Perplexed, Davey immediately looks down at his chest, smoothing one hand over the place where he'd watched a sword go through him. There's nothing there, not even a stain or tear in the fabric to mark the spot. A small noise jerks David's attention up and he locks eyes with Jack, who is standing on the other side of the room next to the pirate with the cigar. David lets out a breath of relief when he sees that Jack's shirt is just as unmarked as his own, no sign of his being stabbed.

Before either of them can do more, the pirate with the cigar gestures and crosses the room to one of the low crates sitting against the wall. He taps a knuckle twice against the side and something inside clicks, like a lock sliding free.

Of all the things David expected to see when the top of the crate lifts, it's not the curly-haired little kid that peers over the edge. He's several years younger than the pirates, a bright innocence to his face as he tugs the brim of his bowler hat and grins at them. "Ya did good, shortstop," the pirate with the cigar whispers. "Take 'em through to the Cap, 'kay?"

The kid beams and gives an enthusiastic salute, before dropping down and disappearing inside the crate again. Cigar Kid nods toward the box, and both Jack and Davey lean in curiously. The bottom of the container is a gaping hole that seems to open into some sort of crawlspace, with a narrow rope ladder dangling down the side. The kid is standing at the bottom of the ladder, looking up expectantly with a lantern in one hand.

"Les'll show ya through," the taller pirate says quietly, adjusting his glasses again. "Don't worry, he don't bite much." Below them, the kid, presumably Les, sticks out his tongue.

"Katherine?" Jack asks, tone low and urgent. "The girl with us. Is she-?"

"With the captain," the black boy answers and nods toward the crate again. "Just follow Les."

"And for God's sake, _shaddup_ ," Cigar Kid adds in a hiss. "Now go 'fore folks get suspicious."

Davey and Jack exchange glances, and then the human shrugs and climbs over the edge of the crate. As soon as he gets to the bottom, David follows him into the container, feeling intensely uncomfortable as he is reminded of the fact that he's still only wearing a dressing gown.

"Get the lock," the bespectacled pirate says, pointing at one corner of the crate, and then he lowers the lid. David fumbles his fingers over the edge until he finds the deadbolt there and slides it into place. He's tall enough that it's only two more steps to the bottom.

The crawlspace is actually some sort of tunnel, barely hip high so that even the kid is stooping to stand in it. "C'mon," Les whispers and then starts to shuffle down the tunnel. Jack and David both have to get on their hands and knees to follow. It's slow going as they crawl through the tunnel, trying to make as little noise as possible, and within seconds, David's knees are aching from the hard boards. They can hear the sounds of the ship around them, shouts and thundering footfalls from above, and David's afraid to even breathe too loudly.

Another rope ladder signifies the end of the tunnel, and Les scales it up and taps his knuckles on the flat wood above them. There's a long, drawn-out moment as they wait, hunched in the darkness, and then the floor panel suddenly lifts away, letting in a narrow slant of light. Captain Conlon is kneeling over the opening, and he smirks. "Nice of ya ta' join us."

The captain moves out of the way, and Les hauls himself out. Jack follows and then offers a hand down to pull Davey up behind him. They are in another smaller storage room, barely more than a closet, filled with boxes and trunks. The captain slides the trapdoor back into place, and it blends seamlessly into the wood, invisible save for a tiny notch where a knife can be used to pry the panel up.

Captain Conlon takes a long look at Jack and David, hovering awkwardly in the corner of the closet, and smirks. "Ya look like drowned rats," he remarks in amusement. "There's clothes in that trunk there, get ya'selves dressed. Tired o' lookin' at them scrawny legs."

David shuffles in embarrassment, but even as Jack takes a protective step in front of him, the human is fighting back a smile. Without another word, the captain leaves through the door behind him, and Les bounces out after him. Jack promptly lets out a heavy breath that sounds torn between exhaustion and relief. "You got any idea what's goin' on?" Jack asks, raising an eyebrow at David.

"Not really," the star admits.

"Least it's not just me," Jack says and shrugs. His gaze slides over David, and he grins. "He's right, you look pretty pathetic. Let's find ya some clothes 'fore you catch a chill."

* * *

As Jack rummages through the trunk of clothes, David sits awkwardly on a crate and picks at the bandage on his leg. Between the storm and crawling around in the bowels of the ship, the cloth is now filthy, stiff and brittle in the patches where it's dried from the rain. Davey gives it up as a lost cause and unties the knot, gingerly unwrapping the dirty strip of cloth from his calf.

"Christ, Davey." The star looks up to see that Jack has looked up and is staring at David's leg with horror. Davey glances down again and can see why the human reacted that way; even though the pain is gone, there is still a thick, violet-red mark that curls up the length of his foot and calf, ending in a massive bruise just above his knee.

"It doesn't hurt," Davey assures Jack, who looks a little like he might be ill. "Whatever Wiesel put on it took out the pain. Guess I should be thankful to him for that much, at least."

Jack's lip curls angrily at the mention of the warlock, but some of the fear leaves his expression. "Ya sure that don't hurt? 'Cause it looks bad."

"Really, it's fine," David insists. He flexes his leg experimentally and smiles when none of the pain resurges. All that's left now is the dull pang of a pulled muscle. "Magic does that, I hear," David adds when he finds that Jack is still tracing his gaze over the brand. "Leaves lasting scars, I mean. Marks. But it really doesn't hurt anymore. What about your hand?"

"It ain't bad," Jack says even as David reaches over and grabs the appendage. The star tries to be careful as he turns Jack's hand over in his palm, checking the reddened skin for signs of something more dangerous. Although his skin is glossy in patches, burnt raw and tender, there's no broken skin or signs of infection.

"Looks like you shouldn't have any lasting damage," Davey says. He brushes his fingertips along a stripe of bright red below Jack's thumb that apparently took the brunt of the heat, and the human shudders. David looks up, meaning to apologize for hurting him, but the look in Jack's eyes most definitely isn't pain. Startled, Davey hastily drops the human's hand and clears his throat. "Maybe we can see if the captain has some bandages for that," he stammers. "Or we can scavenge fabric from your shirt to make one."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Jack says, and then he turns his attention back to the trunk of clothing. Despite himself, David leans in curiously. It's a chaotic mess of fabric, with no semblance of organization between sizes and styles and colors. Having never bothered with picking clothes, Davey's a little overwhelmed by the options.  

Jack, on the other hand, is looking at the trunk like it's an actual treasure chest. "Look at all'is," the human says in awe. "The boys back home'd kill for this much clothes."

Intrigued, Davey pans his eyes over Jack's clothes; trousers just slightly too short in the leg, the fabric of the knees bleached where threads have gotten thin; shirt a bit snug in the shoulders; shoes scuffed and soles obviously repaired, the laces mismatched. It had never occurred to him before, but Davey realizes that Jack has likely owned these clothes for some time, and doesn't have a wide variety of others.

Oblivious to David's observation, Jack pulls out a pair of trousers and holds them up to get an idea of the length. "Here, these oughta fit ya," he says, passing them to the star. "Hopefully. Youse damn tall."

Davey snorts a laugh, and he stands up to tug the pants on. They are just a bit loose in the waist, but the cuffs mercifully reach all the way to his ankles. "I didn't exactly _choose_ to be tall," he points out, and it feels oddly comforting to slip back into their usual banter. "Did you choose to be annoying?"

Jack responds by throwing a balled up undershirt at the star's face. Davey peels the gritty dressing gown off, tossing it aside and replacing it with the undershirt. When his head emerges from the collar, he finds Jack watching him. A warm flush starts on the back of Davey's neck, coupled with a strange leaping in his stomach.

"Oh, uh," Jack turns back to the trunk, busying his hands, and he emerges with a blue shirt. "Here, try this."

David pulls the shirt on and immediately laughs; he's half-drowning in the top, his narrow shoulders and chest nowhere close to filling out the width of the shirt. Jack glances up and barks a laugh, loud and surprised. "I think it'll fit you better," Davey says, shrugging the shirt off and passing it back.

"Never really noticed, but youse a skinny thing," Jack comments. He stands up and works on the buttons of his shirt, tugging it free from the waist of his trousers. David means to turn his attention back to the trunk, but as the sleeves slide off Jack's arms, his gaze catches.

The first thing he notices is the change of color; while Jack's face and forearms are a light golden brown, his upper arms and shoulders are pale. There are collections of pink spots and stripes, scars of every variation sprinkled across his visible skin that hint at dozens of stories. When he moves his arms, indentations hollow beneath his skin to reveal the lay of muscle. Then Jack reaches for the hem of his undershirt and David immediately snaps his gaze down to the trunk of clothes, the fire at the back of his neck spreading up into his ears and cheeks.

Davey has been watching humans for a long time, and while he's never experienced these feelings himself, he's got a pretty good idea of what this one is, and it's very much _not_ good.

* * *

Jack pulls the blue shirt on over the top of a fresh undershirt, and he gives himself a moment to relish the feel of good, sturdy fabric on his skin. New clothes were a rare commodity at the boys' home, the sort that usually only came when a kid completely outgrew the last set. Even then, most all of his clothes had come from older boys at the home, passed along from boy to boy as they hit growth spurts and shot up like weeds, or were donations from the nearby church when people was feelin' all charitable around the holidays. The only piece of clothing Jack owns that never belonged to someone else is his newsboy cap, a gift from Medda two birthdays ago.

This shirt has obviously been worn before, but the fabric is in far better condition than his and is actually big enough for the extra inch or so of width he's gained in the shoulders over the last year. He sets about rolling up the sleeves meticulously, determinedly keeping his eyes down because he can hear Davey still getting dressed. Not that looking down keeps his mind from straying because the whole reason he'd grabbed this shirt in the first place is the color, a blue that woulda complemented the star's eyes nicely. _Christ_ , he's turning into some sorta pantywaist.

Jack plucks off the flower that Medda gave him and pins it to his new shirt with a sentimental smile. Not like the good luck charm has really done him much good so far; course, he's not dead yet so he supposes it can't hurt to hang onto it. 'Sides, it's from Medda.

"What do you think?" David asks, and when Jack looks up, he spreads his arms. The star is wearing a white and blue checked shirt tucked into his trousers, along with a threadbare waistcoat that's hanging unbuttoned, but the sizes are just slightly off. It gives him a softer look, something more casual than the public schoolboy look. It doesn't help that he's still barefoot and his hair is standing on end, and he's picked up a bunch of scrapes and bruises over the last two days, including a shallow scratch on his throat and a violet splotch on his cheekbone.

"Youse startin' to look like a proper guttersnipe like me," Jack says honestly, chuckling. "Kinda suits ya, ach'ly." Davey grins, and it makes that shimmer flood into his cheeks again for a second, brightening up the tiny closet. "C'mon, let's go figure out what we's got ourselves inta." He slings an arm around Davey's shoulders before he can second-guess himself, and the star chuckles under his breath as he stumbles along with him into the next room.

"Gods above, took ya ladies long 'nough." Captain Conlon is sitting in a chair behind a desk strewn with papers, his crossed ankles propped up on one corner. The office looks exactly like Jack always imagined a pirate's cabin would look; shelves of brass instruments, a large map painted onto faded linen tacked up on one wall, a pair of crossed swords with ornate hilts hanging behind the desk. Two doors lead to other rooms, and a third presumedly goes back out to the deck. A worn leather sofa spans the wall between two of the doors, and it's occupied by the little kid Les and Lady Katherine.

"You okay, Plumber?" Jack asks as soon as his gaze lands on her.

Katherine is wearing a pair of men's breeches, and a shirt that is far too large for her is belted in around her waist. Despite her own handful of scrapes and bruises, she smiles cheerfully. "I'm fine," she assures him. "Our captain has been a most hospitable host."

Jack's nose wrinkles up in confusion at the unfamiliar word, but she sounds genuine enough that he doesn't push the topic. "Sure. So, does anyone wanna fill me in on what the hell's goin' on here?"

"Youse sailin' with the famous Cap'n Spot Conlon," Les chimes in grandly, bouncing slightly in his seat. "He's the most dangerous sky pirate in all'a Stormhold."

The captain smirks in the kid's direction. "Look, so here's how it goes," he says, lacing his hands together behind his head. "I gots a reputation ta' protect. Can't go lettin' people think they can gets away with stealin' from the Brooklyn. But lucky for youse two, I also made a promise a long time ago that I don't kill nobody 'less I have no choice, and I 'specially don't kill our kind. So s'far as them out there thinks, you two is dead. Youse gonna stay in here and keep quiet until we make lan'fall, and then once the crew's all gone inta' town, you and the princess here are free to go. Got it?"

"Wait, princess?" Davey asks, looking at Katherine in surprise.

"I'm not a _princess_ ," Katherine rebuts, shooting a pointed look at the captain. Then she stands and crosses to them, beaming up at David. "Sorry, we didn't get a chance to properly introduce ourselves earlier. Lady Katherine Plumber."

"David," the star responds bemusedly, accepting her proffered hand and brushing a quick kiss over her knuckles.

"Plumber 'ere is on some quest to become the king o' this place," Jack interjects, earning him an eye roll from Katherine.

Captain Conlon snorts. "Ain't never had a girl on the throne," he says. "Hells, I didn't think the girls even tried."

"Well maybe that's part of the problem," Katherine retorts hotly. "Stormhold needs a change. All the kids on this ship, you're all Fey runaways, aren't you?"

"Is that how you did the thing with the sword?" David asks eagerly, turning to the captain. "Your Fey gift?"

"Nah, that's the kid," Conlon says, gesturing at Les, who beams proudly.

"But how?" Davey says. "Because I watched that sword go _through_ my chest, and there's no way that should be possible."

The captain grins mischievously and stands up, reaching for his belt. He nods once to Les and then draws his sword, the blade glinting bright and dangerous in the air between them. "Watch this," he says and then promptly drags the blade across his palm. David and Katherine both make noises of shock as blood wells up in the gash, dripping between his fingers onto the wooden floorboards. Jack follows Conlon's gaze when the captain glances over at Les again, and when Jack turns back, the blood is gone. Not just the blood, but the cut and even the sword. Instead, Conlon is holding a black cane like a weapon, the end of it resting on his unblemished palm.

"That's incredible," Katherine says, stepping forward to get a better look at the captain's hand. "I've never seen a Knack like that before. You can make people see things?"

"Kinda," Les says, hopping down off the sofa. "I can't make things up. But if people thinks they's gonna see it, I can make it look true."

"So when a pirate draws something from a sheath," Davey says slowly, brow furrowed in concentration, "since we expected it to be a sword, you made it look like a sword."

"And when a fearsome pirate captain swings a sword at ya," Conlon continues with a smirk, "you see blood." He twirls the cane in his hand and then tucks it back into the sheath at his hip. "S'only reason we keep the li'l stowaway, really." Les fusses petulantly, swiping at the captain with his hat, and Conlon shoves him back off-handedly like the motion is more habit than anything. "Speakin'a, getta move on, kid," he adds. "Elmer's gonna need a hand fixin' up them nets, so scoot."

Les immediately rebounds from his annoyance and he tosses a sharp salute to them all before turning and scurrying out of the cabin. Conlon rolls his eyes. "Right, I gotta ship to run," he says. "You two don't leave this cabin. There's spare bedrolls in that room there. And princess, youse, of course, welcome to the bed again." He tips Katherine a big wink, and she shakes her head but the annoyance seems half-hearted. "My boys'll bring in food in a bit. Until then, don't cause trouble," Conlon finishes with a pointed look at Jack.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Jack intones dryly.

"Smart ass," Conlon mutters. He shrugs off his suspenders on one side, rucking up the hem of his shirt, and then ruffles a hand through his hair. When Jack raises an eyebrow, the captain shrugs. "Boys think I'm havin' a chat with the lady," he explains. "I mean, unless you wanna," he says to Katherine, nodding toward one of the doors, and gets a furious glare in return. "Didn' think so. S'fine, princesses ain't my style anyway.".

He heads for the door and then pauses at the frame, half-glancing back over his shoulder. "An' ya might s'well call me Spot," he offers, half-reluctant. "Most ev'ryone does anyway."

* * *

An awkward silence hovers in the room after the captain leaves, all three of them shuffling uncertainly. It's Lady Katherine who finally breaks the quiet, clearing her throat gently. "So, Mr. Kelly," she says in an overly casual tone, "when you said you were looking for a friend, it would appear that you left out a few details."

The tension in the room snaps back stronger than before, and Davey's heart jumps into his throat. Jack's hand clamps down on David's wrist and he takes a protective half-step in front of the star. "You ain't got no room to talk 'bout lyin' to folks," Jack says.

"I didn't lie to you," Katherine retorts but she's holding her hands in a sign of surrender, "and I didn't accuse you of lying. We just weren't telling everything." She nods toward where Jack's still gripping Davey's arm and adds, "And I'm not going to hurt anyone, if that's what you're thinking."

"Oh, well, if ya say so," Jack says sarcastically. "But see, I'm a li'l worried 'bout the fact that youse cozy with the fella that just tried to kill my friend."

Katherine's nose wrinkles up in blatant disgust. "I am no more a fan of Mr. Wiesel than you are," she says. "I know him because he is a mercenary who has worked for the royal families of Stormhold for a long time. He's the man the king uses when he needs his dirty work done."

"Awful convenient timin', ain't it though?" Jack says suspiciously. "You pickin' me up and takin' me straight to the guy."

"Because we were looking for your friend," Katherine says. "You wanted a ride and I gave you one. It was _your_ idea to check and see if he was at the inn. I didn't know Wiesel was going to be there."

"Jack." Davey reaches up with his free hand, touching the human's bicep to get his attention. Jack turns his head to show he's listening, but he doesn't take his eyes off Lady Katherine. "If you two hadn't gotten there when you did, I would've been dead," the star says and feels Jack's muscles twitch beneath his palm. "If she was working with Wiesel, don't you think she would've stopped you from going there? Or at least waylaid you a bit more?"

"Could be part of the trick," Jack says but he doesn't sound convinced at his own words.

"And besides, Wiesel said something about taking her in for a bounty," David adds.

Katherine's smile is self-deprecating. "Told you I've made enemies in the royal family." His shoulders are still a tense line but Jack loosens his grip on Davey's wrist, although he doesn't let go. "I know you don't have much reason to trust me, but I don't mean you two any trouble, I promise," she says. "I just – I wasn't expecting this."

"You mean you weren't expecting _me_ ," Davey says with a wry grin.

"Do you blame me?" she responded with a pointed look. "I mean do you know how long it's been since a-" She pauses, glancing at the door and lowering her voice slightly, "a star landed in Stormhold? That's the sort of thing that only happens once every few hundred years. The odds of actually meeting one, let alone randomly stumbling across one that's palling around the forest with a Fey, they're astronomical."

"Pun intended?" David mutters and Katherine cracks a smile.

"No, but the point still stands," she replies. She moves over to prop a hip against the captain's desk, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning. "I might not be a danger to you, but you've got Wiesel on your tail now, and that's a problem," she says solemnly. "He's a powerful warlock and a great tracker. You two are going to need to make sure you keep moving or he's going to catch up to you, and I don't think your Babylon candle trick is going to work a second time."

"Doesn't matta, we ain't got anotha one," Jack admits. He casts a quick, sidelong glance at David, and adds, "Ya wouldn't happen to know where we can get anotha, wouldja?"

Katherine tugs at a curl thoughtfully. "Honestly, I haven't seen one in ages," she says. "They're so difficult to make, they sort of fell out of fashion a long time ago. There might be someone at one of the bigger market towns, Wall or Jerna maybe, that might have one for sale, but it won't be cheap. The only other thing I can think is to have one made, but the people powerful enough to do that aren't usually inclined to do favors for Fey. And if they find out what you are…" She trails off with a pointed look at Davey, and he feels a cold chill race up his spine.

"There's really that many folks willin' to kill for immortality?" Jack asks, face twisted up in disgust.

"They might not do it for themselves, but they wouldn't shy away from selling him on to someone who is more willing to get their hands dirty," Katherine says darkly. "If word gets out that there's a star in Stormhold, that the king wants him, you'll have a hard time getting anywhere."

Jack huffs and drags a hand through his hair. "You know any otha way to get him home?" he asks, a hint of desperation in his tone.

"Not off the top of my head," she says, and her expression is apologetic. "I might be able to ask around, check with some of the other families and look through some books, but all of that will take time and I can't make any promises. I'm sorry I can't be more help."

"Thanks anyway," Davey says and offers her a small smile. He bumps a shoulder against Jack's. "We'll figure something else out, okay? For now, let's just focus on getting out of here alive."

"Which, for the moment, means keeping our heads down and not leaving this room," Katherine says with a rueful grin. "Exciting."

David wanders over to the sofa and drops down onto the cushions, sinking back into the fabric. The little sleep he's gotten over the last few days is catching up to him, and it's well into the morning now.

"Ya okay?" Jack asks, taking a few steps closer and twisting his hat between his fingers.

"Just tired," Davey says with a small smile. "It's been a long night."

Jack huffs a laugh. "That's puttin' it mildly," he agrees. "I'm here, if ya wanna sleep. I'll keep an eye on ya."

"You won't disappear this time?" David replies and surprises himself by the note of bitterness that slips out underneath. Jack frowns, drawing back like he's been slapped.

" _Me_ disappear?" Jack retorts sharply. "What 'bout you?"

"You were gone!" David says. "What was I supposed to do?"

"I left ya a note," Jack says. Davey blinks, confused and caught off guard. Jack seems to see something in the star's expression, because the lines of his face soften. "Ya didn't see it?"

Davey shakes his head. "I just woke up and you weren't there. I thought you must've taken the candle and gone."

"I went to get us some food," Jack says with a breathless laugh. He finally crosses the rest of the distance and sinks down onto the sofa next to Davey. "Woke up early and was starvin'. I put a note in ya shirt pocket so ya'd know I was comin' back."

"I never saw," Davey says, and he pats his shirt pocket even though he knows the motion is entirely useless - this isn't even the same shirt he was wearing then.

Jack snorts and shakes his head. "Figures." He forces himself to relax the grip on his hat, smoothing out the wrinkles he's twisted into it. "Christ, scared the life outta me when I came back and ya wasn't there. Thought someone musta kidnapped ya or somethin'."

The stricken tone of the human's voice lights something deep in David's chest, and he remembers the look of pure relief when Jack had seen him at the inn. With a small smile, Davey reaches over and sets his hand on Jack's forearm, a tiny motion of reassurance. Jack exhales through his nose and something seems to unwind in his shoulders.

"Sleep, Davey," he says and his voice has gone fond again. "I'mma keep watch, youse okay. And just - I ain't goin' nowhere, so ya know."

"Maybe this time, if you do, just wake me up instead," David suggests, grinning wryly. Jack chuckles and shoves him playfully, and when Davey lands against the arm of the sofa, he doesn't bother sitting back up. It couldn't hurt to close his eyes for a few minutes.

* * *

Jack waits until he's sure Davey is asleep before he moves, being careful not to jostle the sofa too much as he stands up. He crosses to where Katherine is still leaning against the captain's desk, distractedly skimming through papers on the surface in a blatant attempt to pretend she wasn't listening. Jack sits on the corner of the desk and clears his throat. "I need ya to tell me more 'bout this Fey stuff."

Katherine looks up, eyebrows raising in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Need to know how this works," Jack says, flexing his hands idly. He can still feel it, faintly, that distant buzz deep under his skin that has been in place since he landed in Stormhold. In the beginning, he'd mistaken it for adrenaline, but he's fairly positive that what he's feeling is actually the magic. It hovers just below the surface, an untapped well that he doesn't quite know how to access. "If I'm Fey and I got magic, I gotta know how it works. In case I need it."

The implications behind his words don't go over her head, judging by the way Katherine's gaze flicks to where Davey is curled up on the sofa. "You mean in case you need to defend yourself?" she asks.

"Worked once," Jack points out. "I know it ain't much, but if folks is comin' afta us and I got somethin' that can help..."

"Of course," Katherine agrees. "If you have the means to defend yourself, you should employ them. Absolutely." She hoists herself up to sit on the edge of the desk next to him, fidgeting awkwardly with the leather band holding her shirt in place. "I'm not an expert but I'll try to answer whatever questions I can."

Jack nods. "Thanks. So this magic, it ain't just them - what'd ya call 'em? Knacks?"

"Right," Katherine says. "Knacks are a natural ability that develops from the magic, but that's not the extent of a Fey's power. It varies person to person, of course, like any other talent, but with the proper training and practice, Fey can do any number of things."

"What 'bout warlocks then?" Jack asks. "What's they got that makes 'em stronger 'an us?"

Katherine huffs a derisive noise. "Honestly? Money, mostly." Jack frowns in confusion. "That's the thing, Jack; warlocks _are_ Fey. They are born with the same potential for magic as any of you. The difference is that they are born into families with money or connections, so they get the proper training they need to master their magic."

Jack recoils in anger, white-hot indignation swelling in his gut. "And that gives 'em the right to treat the rest their kind like slaves?" he hisses. "We gotta be slaves just 'cause we can't afford them fancy schools?"

"Like I said, it's a broken system," Katherine says resentfully. "It wasn't like this in the beginning, from what I've heard. They sold it as giving the Fey a purpose. Those who couldn't afford warlock training were given jobs that made them feel useful, where they could use their magic for the betterment of society. Then, over time, the restrictions got tighter and new rules were put in place, until it became what we have now."

His stomach is churning and Jack leans his weight into his palms on the edges of the desk just to give himself something tangible to focus on, his knuckles bleached white from the pressure. A lifetime of being looked down on for his social status, for being forgotten and disregarded simply because he didn't have the money to warrant more than a glance, is crawling along his spine to mingle with the earlier indignation. It's the sort of thing that's rankled him for years, even though he knows that there's nothing he can do to change it.

"Right," Jack says, swallowing down the anger and forcing it to the back. There'll be time for that later. For now, his focus needs to be on keeping himself and Davey safe. "So youse sayin' I can do the same sorta stuff that warlock Weasel did?"

"In theory, yes," Katherine says. "But in practice? Jack, warlocks study for years, learning spells and herblore and mastery of the elements to best utilize their power. You have two days before we make landfall and no access to spellbooks or a warlock to train you."

"Ain't never been much for book learnin' anyway," Jack says with an indifferent shrug. "Always found I learn best by doin'."

Katherine laughs softly, muffling it behind her hand. "So you plan to just teach yourself the sort of magic that warlocks spend years studying?" she asks, as if to clarify, and shakes her head. "I would think you're completely insane, but after the last day, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. Every time I think I have you figured out, you've surprised me. So I suppose if anyone can do it, it might as well be you."

"That almost sounded like a compliment," Jack remarks, amused. "You startin' to get sweet on me?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Katherine replies, scoffing. "Besides, even if you weren't obnoxious and insufferable, I have higher morals than to pursue someone already spoken for."

Jack's eyebrows shoot up. "I ain't spoken for." Katherine frowns and glances from Jack to the sofa, and the pieces click into place all at once. A hollow dread forms in his stomach at the implication, an inherent need to distance himself from the sort of rumors that'll get him arrested. "Ain't nothin' going on there, Plumber," he says firmly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to - I just - " Katherine bites her lip. "You just seem to be quite close."

"As friends," Jack says. He puts as much conviction into it as he can, even as something in his chest twinges painfully.

Katherine nods in understanding. "Of course," she agrees and it somehow sounds like she's humoring him, but her expression is neutral. "It's just sweet, how protective you are of each other. How long have you known each other?"

"'Bout two days now," Jack says and it's Katherine's turn to be shocked. "On'y met the night 'fore I met you. Made a deal to help each otha out and we's just been stickin' together. Safer 'an bein' on our own, at this point."

"Incredible." Katherine shakes her head but doesn't elaborate on that any further. "Well, as far as actually learning how to use your magic, you may have better luck with asking the captain for advice. The best I can tell you is to find that feeling inside, where you can feel your magic, and get familiar with it. It'll be easier to use if you know how to access it."

Jack frowns, rubbing his palms together, as he focuses on that hum under his skin. It's difficult to locate precisely where it is, like it's a liquid pulse that shifts through his body in waves. Trying to pin it down is making his head pound, and he groans. "I don't - it ain't like a _thing_ , it's just sorta-"

"Jack." Katherine's voice is gentle and she places a hand on his arm. "Not to be rude, but you look dead on your feet. It might be easier to focus if you've had some sleep."

He wants to protest, instinctively reluctant to show any sort of weakness in front of someone he's still not entirely sure he can trust. Unfortunately, now that she's drawn his attention to it, he can't ignore the weight settled into his bones. He's only slept in fits and bursts over the last two days, and between the fear of Davey disappearing and the fight with the warlock and being captured by sky pirates, the adrenaline has taken its toll.

"Ya ain't gonna take 'vantage of me?" Jack asks, teasing to deflect. "Ya know, a fella can feel all vulnerable."

Katherine laughs, rolling her eyes. "You're the most impossible boy," she says and shakes her head. "Go. I actually got to sleep last night. I'll make sure those dirty pirates keep their hands to themselves."

With a chuckle, Jack slips off the desk and crosses over to the sofa. He settles down against the opposite arm, curling his legs up onto the cushions and tugging his hat down over his eyes. Before he nods off, he stretches his legs just slightly until his foot nudges against one of Davey's, just to reassure himself that the star is still there.

* * *

A faint noise tugs at the edge of Jack's awareness and he hovers for a moment on the edge of sleep. Life experience has turned him into a light sleeper and if he picks up any hint that he's in danger, he can be awake in seconds. The sound comes again and it definitely isn't a threat but it's still enough to rouse him.

It's nearly pitch black in the tiny storeroom where they've been exiled. (When the boy called Race delivered food for them, he added the captain's stipulation that the two boys keep themselves hidden in the closet as much as possible, in case someone barges unexpectedly into the captain's cabin.) There's a small window set high into the wall, but all it tells him is that it's nighttime, nothing more than the faintest impression of moonlight coming through the gap.

Jack reaches out toward where he last saw the lantern and manages to find it after two swipes, and fumbles through getting it lit. He lets his eyes adjust to the sudden light before lifting the lantern and setting it on a crate where it can illuminate the small closet. The trunks and barrels cast jagged, hulking shadows up the walls, but it's the floor that holds his attention.

David is curled up on one of the thin bedrolls the captain provided, and really, someone with such long limbs should not be capable of turning into that small of a ball. It's hard to make out his expression in the weak light, but sharp arrows of black fill the creases of his forehead when the star winces. Then Jack finally hears it again, the sound that dragged him out of sleep: a whimper.

"Davey," Jack whispers, careful to not be heard outside the door. "Wake up, Davey." The star makes another tragic noise, hands clenching into fists. Bad dreams are nothing new to Jack. There were countless nights that a cry or scream would echo through the boys' home, and the standard reaction would be for everyone to pretend they hadn't been woken by it. It was a general rule among the orphans that nightmares were not discussed, and any tears that fell at night didn't count.

That being said, Jack hates the thought of leaving Davey in the midst of a bad dream. Leaning over, Jack grabs David's shoulder and shakes him gently. "Hey, Davey, wake up."

Gasping for breath, the star suddenly bolts upright, hands scrabbling over his chest frantically. His eyes are blown wide in fear as he claws at his shirt and he whines, high and terrified. "Whoa, hey," Jack says, grasping David's shoulder despite the way the star tries to flinch away. With his other hand, he gets ahold of one of Davey's wrists before the guy can scratch himself. "Easy there, Davey, s'okay."

"Jack?" Davey asks, confused. His eyes flick around the room and then finally fix on Jack's face in the dim lighting.

"You okay?" Jack asks, loosening the grip on David now that the star has settled. Although David pulls his wrist free, he leans into the hand on his shoulder. Jack fights back a flutter in his stomach and brushes his thumb over the star's collarbone reassuringly.

Davey takes several slow breaths and then nods. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says, and there's only the slightest waver in his voice. "Just a dream."

Jack looks from the rucked up fabric over the star's chest to the lingering panic in his eyes, and he puts the pieces together. "Yeah, that sword trick was wild," he says sympathetically.

"Wasn't the sword," Davey says quietly. He looks down, busying his hands with smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. Jack frowns and then lets out a breath of realization. David smiles self-deprecatingly. "Not like I've had a shortage of near-stabbings lately."

The memories flicker through Jack's head in a stream of flashes, images of Davey pinned to a wall and white with panic as a massive, black knife drives toward his chest. He doesn't realize he's tightened his grip until David shrugs, and Jack clears his throat as he lets his hand fall. "You oughta stop being so charming, then, get less folks tryna steal ya heart," he jokes to lessen the tension.

Davey's laugh is weak and airy, but at least some of the tension eases out of his face. He sighs and draws his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "Sorry, did I wake you up?" he asks, seeming to realize it's still dark.

"Me? Nah, I was up," Jack says. Davey glances pointedly at Jack's sleep-tousled hair and Jack shrugs, unrepentant. "You hungry?" he asks and scoots over to the sack that was deposited by the door before they fell asleep. He tugs the bag into his lap and opens it, dividing out the food between them.

As Jack eagerly bites into the apple, savoring the sweet juice, he observes Davey. The star hasn't uncurled from his spot, picking distractedly at the hard biscuit without actually eating it. His gaze is in some sort of middle-distance, unfocused on the shadowy wall of crates behind Jack.

"So youse seen a lot, right?" Jack says, casting around for something to distract the star. Davey blinks in surprise and turns to him, brow furrowed questioningly. "Like bein' a star, you said you could watch stuff from up there. So youse probably seen a lotta int'resting things, yeah?"

Davey doesn't smile, but the corners of his eyes soften in a way Jack is starting to recognize. "I mean, I guess that depends on what you find interesting," he says, "but yeah, I've seen a lot. Why?"

Jack grins and leans forward on his elbows. "So all the places ya seen, what's ya favorite? Say you could go anywhere, where'd ya pick?"

The star gnaws at his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Egypt," he says decisively. "I'd love to see the pyramids from up close, see how big they really are. And the Sphinx."

"Tell me 'bout it," Jack says. David's eyes light up and then he launches into stories, describing towering obelisks covered in pictographs spearing up from the endless sand and the enormous fan of the Nile River Delta pouring into the ocean. Somewhere during a story about an Egyptian pharaoh, Davey actually starts eating the biscuit he's been systematically dismantling. All trace of fear has faded by the time he starts explaining what the Sphinx is.

The concept is so fascinating to Jack that he reaches over for his bag - which Spot had retrieved from the net - and digs out his sketchbook. He flips the page quickly before Davey can see the first sketch, and then pulls out one of his pencils. Scooting closer to the lantern, Jack starts tracing an outline of the human-lion creature David described. "Keep goin'," Jack says when he notices Davey's stopped talking. "What was that you was sayin' about the gold coffin things?"

David starts up with his stories again and as he talks, Jack sketches out the things he's describing. They're fragmented half-drawings, just clusters of doodles overlapping each other on the page as the muse takes him without any sort of consistency. He looks up briefly when he feels a body press against his own to see that David has slid over to sit on his other side, leaning into Jack to peer at the sketches over his shoulder.

"That's incredible," Davey breathes.

"It ain't nothin' special," Jack says and shrugs. It isn't even up to his usual standard, the bulk of the bandage on his hand hampering his ability slightly. He squints at the page in the half-light and then sets about fixing the Sphinx's body now that he's not rushing. "Ain't even a proper pit'cha. I got betta ones. Well, not no more, most got left at the home 'cept what I had at Medda's."

"Is that what's in there?"

Jack follows Davey's gesture and sees the cylinder sticking out of his bag. "Oh, yeah. Them's my betta ones. Didn' wanna leave 'em at the home, 'fraid some the otha boys'd mess 'em up."

"Can I-?" Jack shrugs and passes the cylinder over before going back to the Sphinx. David pulls off the lid and slides the rolled up papers out carefully. He moves around in front of Jack where he's got more light and then smooths the sketches out in his lap.

Jack tries not to pay too much attention as Davey looks through the sketches. It's mostly just imaginary landscapes, from rolling fields divided by a winding river to sandy beaches below white-capped waves to jagged mountains speckled with trees. There are random spots from the city; buildings zig-zagged by fire escapes and hung with clotheslines, a cluster of ladies chatting outside a boutique shop, a spot in Central Park where the trees make a small alcove beside a duck pond.

Then there are more personal ones, glimpses of the dormitories at the boys' home and the other orphans. Backstage at Medda's, vaudeville dancers and the stage crew setting up for a show. The kind old man from the general store who always slipped Jack a hard candy whenever he helped with deliveries. The twin girls from the Catholic school who'd go 'round the block to walk passed his newspaper sellin' spot for a chat.

"Who's this?" Davey asks. Jack leans in to see the page covered in a collage of drawings of the same person, moments and expressions frozen in time.

"Oh, that's Miss Medda," Jack says with a smile, letting his gaze skim over the familiar features. "She, uh, she kinda raised me. She's the one got me outta here, took me to New York with her. 'Bout the closest thing I got to family."

"She looks nice," Davey says.

"Proper firecracker, more like," Jack says, laughing. "Make her mad, she'll give ya a good soakin'. Learned right quick to keep on her good side. She's a gem, though, takes care of her folks. Not just me, but her dancers and crew and them." He pauses, doodling idly in the corner of the paper he's been sketching on. "And she's tough as nails. She don't talk 'bout it, but I know there's folks give her trouble. Don't think it's right a colored lady doin' so good for herself. But she don't let it bother her none, just keeps on and protects who she can and don't make no apologies for who she is."

Jack swallows past the lump in his throat, surprised by the surge of what he can only imagine is homesickness in his chest. It's not like he's been gone long enough to miss her; there were plenty of times he'd get caught up in a job and go a week or more without a chance to swing by the theatre. At the same time, there's something so much more final about this time, having said his goodbyes and thinking he was going to Santa Fe where he'd likely never see her again.

Davey's hand touches his knee gently and Jack startles, blinking out of his thoughts. The star gives him a sympathetic smile and Jack realizes his eyes are watery. He clears his throat and rubs his eyes with the back of his wrist. "She sounds incredible," Davey says and Jack glances up. "I wish I could meet her."

"You could," Jack realizes, stomach leaping. "I mean, if you wanna. When we get to New York, 'fore you go home, we could drop by the theatre. I think Medda'd like ya, and it'd be good to see her again 'fore I head to Santa Fe."

"Sounds like a plan," David says, grinning. This time, Jack's pretty sure the warm flush in his stomach has nothing to do with the excitement of seeing Medda again. He hastily turns his attention back to his sketchbook before the heat can spread up into his cheeks.

Davey flicks through a few more sketches at a casual pace before pausing, a soft noise escaping him. Jack looks over and feels an irrational flash of panic; he'd forgotten that one was in there. It's old and smudged, giving an indistinct blur to the features like looking through fogged glass. He usually never used paint except for the backdrops he did for Medda - far too expensive - but there'd been no other way to accurately capture the faded figure in his head. Miss Medda, the saint she is, didn't remark when the leftover paints from a backdrop went missing.

"Who-?" Davey hesitates, frowning. His fingertips ghost over the page without actually touching and his expression mirrors the pain and emptiness that Jack poured into the painting.

"I dunno," Jack admits, drawing David's focus up. Jack taps his pencil against his paper in a frenetic rhythm, trying to find a way to phrase it. "Was a dream I use'ta have sometimes. Not a bad one, really, just – I'd wake up feelin' funny. Like somethin's missing but I dunno what."

He takes a deep breath and skims his gaze over the vague impression of a small child with a soft face, expression slack with sleep. The image changed in his dreams all the time - the kid would be awake, or crying, or smiling a blinding smile - but it had been too hard to capture those moments from the faint shadows of his dreams lingering in the early morning light. He had a whole collection of attempts, never making it further than sketched outlines. In the end, the sleeping boy huddled beneath a thin coat with one hand fisted around a sleeve, was the only one he'd had any success with, watered down as it was.

A week ago, he never would've even been able to guess who it might be, but now, after everything – "I think it's my brotha."

David's eyes soften, sad despite the furrow of confusion that forms between his brows. "I thought you didn't remember your brother?"

"I don't, not really," Jack says, shrugging. "It's just – I's been havin' that dream since I was a kid. Neva knew who it was, and I ain't ever remember anythin' from the dreams 'cept that face. Then Medda says I had a brotha, and it just makes sense, ya know? Like, them dreams is memories, kinda." Jack huffs and drags a hand through his hair, slumping back against the crate behind him. "I dunno, maybe that's stupid."

Davey sets aside the sketches carefully and scoots around to sit next to Jack. They are pressed together from knee to shoulder and Jack soaks up the comfort of contact, the reassuring coolness of the star's body anchoring him.

David fidgets with his fingers for a second and then takes a breath. "I miss my family," he says, speaking to his knees. "It's not that we were close or anything, I don't have any siblings I'm really attached to. I mean, there are billions of us and we're all spread out so far from each other. The thing is, stars, we have this sort of – _awareness_ of each other. We can feel each other in the back of our minds at all times. I never really noticed it much, it was always just this constant hum of sound and light in the background. Sometimes, I just wanted it to go away, give me a moment of peace and quiet. Have my thoughts be just my own for a minute, you know?

"Then I fell down here, and that's gone and now it's just so _quiet_. I mean, it's not that things are really quiet, there's always something," Davey rambles, gesturing around them distractedly. "And sometimes I don't even think it's my family I miss, just that feeling. Somehow, not having that presence in the back of my head, I feel sort of hollow. Like there's a piece of me missing that I never even thought about before it was gone." He stops and finally looks up, meeting Jack's gaze. "All of that to say, there's nothing wrong with missing something you didn't know you had."

The open honesty in Davey's eyes is overwhelming and Jack takes a shuddery breath, instinctively scrambling to draw back from so much emotion. He knows his smile is forced as he knocks his shoulder against David's, and his voice catches as he teases, "Ya know, when you gets goin', you talk a lot." Davey chuffs, bumping his shoulder back playfully, and they both relax.

Even though his muscles have loosened and he's slumping lazily into Jack's side, there's no missing the lingering trace of sadness hanging around the star. Jack doesn't know what it's like to miss home and family in that way; something like the feeling he got when thinking about never seeing Medda again, but a million times worse probably. So Jack takes a breath, resolve settling in his chest, and leans his own weight back against the star's side.  "We's gonna get ya home, Davey, promise."

David glances at him in his periphery. "How? We don't have the candle anymore, and you heard what Lady Katherine said."

"I dunno," Jack admits. "But we's gonna. I ain't goin' back over that Wall 'til we got a way to get you home." He grins and drops his head onto Davey's shoulder. "Deal's a deal, afta all. If youse still comin' to New York with me, I'm gettin' you a ride home."

The star doesn't respond except to tilt his head against the top of Jack's, but in the corner of his eyes, Jack can see that Davey's skin has taken on that glimmer that brightens the room slightly, the one he's starting to notice only comes when the star is happy.

* * *

It is early evening when Davey finally wakes up again, feeling sluggish and uncertain. After his nightmare, it had taken until nearly noon before he could finally settle enough to sleep. He and Jack had spent the entire day stuck in the storage closet, exchanging stories in the gaps when they're both awake. Now, as David rolls over on the floor and stretches out his sore muscles, he thinks it'll take a small miracle to get his sleeping schedule back in order when this is all over.

A glance at the other bedroll tells him Jack is still up and about, and he can hear the quiet murmur of voices coming from the main cabin. David straightens out his clothes and then cracks the door to the storeroom open, checking to make sure there's not someone unfamiliar on the other side.

"Davey, that you? It's safe, ya can come out," Jack says and the star pushes the door the rest of the way open. The lanterns are lit in the cabin to fend off the growing darkness outside the back window. Jack is sitting on the floor in a circle with Katherine and the two pirates from the day before, the boys embroiled in some sort of card game.

"Mornin' there, sleepin' beauty," drawls the pirate with the cigar, grinning cheekily. "Lookin' pretty good for a dead fella."

"Shaddup," the second pirate says, smacking his friend around the back of the head. Then to Davey, he says, "Name's Specs. The charmer's Race."

"Charmer?" Race echoes. "Awh, Specsy, I knew you was sweet on me." In response, Specs shoves him hard enough to knock him over onto his back. Race sighs dramatically from the floor. "Whateva happened ta' romance?"

Jack rolls his eyes at them both and waves Davey over, snagging him by the sleeve and tugging him down into the spot between him and Specs. "You sleep betta?" Jack asks in an undertone as the two pirates continue to bicker. David nods and Jack grins, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good. So, ya wanna play?"

"I don't know how," David admits.

"S'okay, neitha does Kath, but it ain't too hard to figure. Just watch a few rounds, you'll pick it up fast," Jack says. He frowns at the cards in his hand, shifting two of them around, as the others watch. Jack finally sighs in defeat, tossing them into the middle. "Though maybe youse betta off stayin' outta it. Pretty sure that one's cheatin'."

"I would neva!" Race gasps theatrically. Sticking his unlit cigar back between his teeth, he grins. "Maybe youse just bum at cards."

Jack scoffs. "Shaddup and deal, wouldja?"

The three of them tease and joke through several rounds of cards while Davey watches, struggling to keep up with the rules and parsing out which cards are actually good. It doesn't take him long to figure out that the game actually has less to do with the cards and more to do with who's a better liar. He also doesn't need to understand the rules to know who is clearly winning; the other two snag a few hands each, but Race takes most of them with a boastful grin.

They've been playing for well over an hour when the door to the cabin opens. Davey and Jack both instinctively duck their heads, just in case, but it's only Les. "Spot's lookin' for ya, Race."

"I'mma'comin'," Race says with a put-upon sigh, tossing down his cards.

"You playin' cards again?" Les asks, squinting at them in confusion. "Thought you not s'pose to no more."

"Why?" both Jack and Davey ask.

"His Knack," Les says at the same time that Race groans, "Aw, c'mon, kid! Don't ruin it." Les sticks out his tongue and Race lunges to his feet, chasing after the kid when Les turns tail and runs.

When the door swings shut behind them, Specs chuckles. "Race likes findin' guys who'll play with him," he says conversationally, shuffling the cards. "None us on the ship will no more, 'specially not when money's involved. See, Racer's got a thing for knowin' who's gonna win and such, gets feelin's about bets and games. It's his Knack."

" _Sonuva_ -" Jack mutters, and then he shakes his head, laughing.

"Yeah, he gets that a lot," Specs says. "So, wanna go anotha now it's more fair? Davey? Lady Katherine?"

"Deal me in," Katherine says with a decisive nod, grinning.

The star glances up to find the others watching him and he hesitates, biting his lower lip, until Jack nudges him with an elbow. "Yeah, alright, I'm in." Jack laughs enthusiastically and ruffles Davey's hair as Specs deals out the cards again.

Davey has never been the sort of outgoing person that Jack clearly is, not even before earth. He is used to being left to his own devices and his thoughts. So it surprises him just how much he likes being a part of a group, even one as small as this. Jack is practically buoyant, riding the waves of the conversation with his charm turned up all the way. Katherine turns out to be fascinating, parrying Jack's cheeky jabs with a rapier wit of her own, all class and elegance on the surface with something wilder beneath. And Specs, while relatively quiet compared to the other two, is unexpectedly thoughtful and clever behind a veneer of dry sarcasm.

Time blurs by as they breeze through hand after hand, and without Race in the game, the whole thing is much more evenly matched. Specs and Jack have the obvious benefit of knowing how to play the game, but David picks up on the patterns the longer he plays and he manages to hold his own. The first time he bluffs his way into a win, Jack beams at him proudly and Davey has to look down at his lap to hide the leap in his stomach.

Ugh, that _not-good_ thing again.

It's late in the evening, the sky outside the cabin windows dyed a deep indigo, when the cabin door opens again. Spot walks through, looking tired and harried, but he huffs when he sees the cards on the floor. "Shoulda played for skins."

Specs snorts loudly. "If we did, the Lady'd be laughin' while we all shiva," he says. Spot pauses on his way across the room, raising an eyebrow. "Girl can bluff like nothin'," Specs says and shrugs. "Bet she'd give even Race a run for it, way she can spin. Might be good 'nough to throw off his Knack."

Spot clicks his tongue and gives the girl an appraising look. "Hmm, now that I'd like ta' see. Where's a princess go gettin' a skill like that?" he asks.

Katherine remains neutral on the outside, but there's something playful and dangerous to the curve of her lips when she answers, "Politics."

After considering it for a second, Spot nods. "Makes sense. Well fun's over, fellas. I gots to get some sleep. Specs, youse on watch with Boots for first shift. Comin' up on port, so keep an eye out."

"Yes'sir," Specs says, tucking the deck of cards into his pocket. He nods politely to Katherine and grins at the boys before letting himself out of the cabin.

Spot drops inelegantly onto the sofa, leaning in to tug off his boots. "Gonna make port in Solara firs' thing," he says. "Should be good to getcha whereva you wanna go." He pauses and frowns at the laces of one boot. "Where youse two headed 'gain?"

"Wall," Jack answers.

"Well, we ain't goin' that far south," Spot says, "but we can getcha s'far as Jerna, if ya wanna stay on."

"That's only about two days walk from Wall," Katherine supplies helpfully when Jack frowns at the unfamiliar names. She bites her lip, considering her words carefully for a moment, and adds, "It would definitely lower your risk of running into trouble."

Davey immediately picks up on her meaning and the way Jack's head lifts slightly says he does too. Less time on land means less chance of crossing paths with another warlock. He has to imagine that it's difficult to track someone in the air. Still, David has to ask, "Your crew won't recognize us?"

"Ain't nobody really seen ya, 'cept Race and Specs," Spot points out. "Rest didn't 'xactly get a good look at ya durin' the storm." The captain smirks. "I know what I'm doin', kid, ain't my first time."

"In that case," Jack says, "I ain't gonna say no to a lift."

Spot nods. "Ain't gonna be a free ride. We'll bring ya back onboard like new recruits. Youse gonna hafta pull ya weight just like anyone."

"Course, Cap'n," Jack replies and tosses in a flippant salute for good measure. Davey rolls his eyes and elbows him, giving the captain a grateful smile.

"Same offa goes fa' you, princess," Spot adds, prompting an annoyed glare from Katherine.

"Thank you, captain, but I need to return to my search," she says. "But thank you for your hospitality."

Spot shrugs. "Suit ya'self. Good luck wi'cha takin' over the kingdom thing." He drops his sword belt on top of his boots and shrugs off his suspenders. "Right, now that's settled, shove off. I gotta sleep."

Exchanging amused glances, Katherine bids them a good night before slipping into the captain's bedroom. Jack slings an arm over Davey's shoulders - the star is learning that Jack is an incredibly tactile person - and steers him back into their little storeroom. As Davey sits down on his bedroll, Jack leans over and lights the lantern before shutting the door so they're not completely in the dark.

Neither of them speaks until they're both stretched out on their bedrolls. Jack rolls over onto his side, propped up on one elbow to see better. "So, I guess we's pirates now."

Davey snorts and raises an eyebrow. "Apparently."

And then a broad, mischievous grin breaks out across Jack's face. "Nifty." He flops onto his back, chuckling to himself, and Davey rolls over to face the wall so Jack can't see his mirroring smile. There are so many dangers out there and this surely won't be any less so, but somehow, the star can't help but look forward to the next day.

After all, he's spent so long dreaming about having adventures, and tomorrow he's beginning another.


	3. The Lightning Pirates of the S. S. Brooklyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in this chapter. My muse was taken hostage by a multichap holiday-themed Newsies fic that I then still wasn't able to get finished in time to post despite spending most of December bedridden. Then, of course, as soon as I got back to working on this fic, my computer died. I'm now staying up way past my bedtime on a borrowed computer to get this posted for you guys. 
> 
> As a peace offering, I have tons of new characters and the answer to a question a few people have brought up in comments.
> 
> Thanks again for your guys' incredible support on this wild crackfic adventure, it's been amazing.

Crutchie never thought that there would be a single place in the world that would make him miss the Refuge, but the great hall of Stormhold Keep sure does it. Spending all of his life stuck with one warlock is bad enough, but a meeting of several of the kingdom's most powerful warlocks is terrifying. And that's not even counting the king. The only relief is that Fey slaves like him aren't allowed into the main room in case they overhear something important, so they are left in a cramped antechamber to wait.

Crutchie shifts his position, leaning some of the weight onto his crutch as his good leg twinges. His right leg is useless on a good day, but in a place like this, where the magic is so thick and heavy in the air that he can taste it, his leg _kills_. The hex that crippled him left spider webs of livid violet and black coiling up his leg like lightning bursts, a low-key magic that keeps his muscles from working. Here, the scars drink up the extra magic in the air and send flares of sparks through his nerves.

One of the kids near him, a tiny girl who can't be more than twelve, muffles a sob through her knuckles. She's definitely new to the job, the skin of her wrists raw beneath the iron bands, and she is shaking as she struggles to control herself. Crutchie listens to hear if there's anyone approaching the door and then he takes an awkward step closer. The girl startles, looking up at him with wide eyes through the fringe of her short hair, and Crutchie gives her his most reassuring smile.

"What'cha name?" he asks in an undertone. He sees the other three Fey cast incredulous looks at him - they aren't necessarily forbidden from talking, but it's assumed - but he ignores them, keeping his eyes trained on the girl. "My name's Crutchie."

"'Cause you gots'a crutch?" the girl whispers.

Crutchie feigns surprise, glancing at the crutch tucked under his arm and frowning thoughtfully. "Huh, neva thought'a that," he says. "Youse smart."

The girl gives him a knowing smile, one that wrinkles up her nose. "Youse silly," she responds. Then, softer, "My name's Smalls."

"You wanna see a trick?" Crutchie asks, leaning in conspiratorially.

Smalls' eyes light up with curiosity. Grinning, Crutchie digs a piece of twine out of his pocket. He shows it to her - and he can see the other Fey watching with interest as well - and then presses the string between his palms. Closing his eyes in concentration, he rubs his hands together, feeling the twine curl and twist in his palms.

"Ready?" Crutchie asks, squinting one eye at Smalls. She leans forward eagerly and Crutchie opens his hands, revealing the twine, which has been twisted and knotted into the shape of a flower. Smalls gasps. "For you, milady," he says, and tucks it behind the girl's ear with a grin.

"How'ja do that?" she asks in wonder.

Crutchie pointedly resists the urge to scratch at his wrists, where his skin is burning and itching beneath the iron bands in punishment for sneaking the whisper of magic. "We's so much more 'an they says we is," he tells her solemnly, and lets his gaze flicker to the Fey in the corner pretending not to listen. "I know it's scary now, but one day, it's gonna get betta. We's gonna be okay."

Smalls throws herself at him with so much force it almost knocks him over, and Crutchie has to cling to her shoulders to keep himself upright. He strokes her hair and makes soft shushing sounds as Smalls shudders against his stomach, breathing deeply to keep her tears at bay. She pulls herself together after a minute, drying her face on the collar of her tatty shirt. As she does, Crutchie catches sight of the underside of her wrist, where the raw skin has turned to scabs, and his stomach turns.

Taking his weight off his crutch, he tears off the rag that covers the wood at the top. He uses his teeth to tear it into thin ribbons and then gestures Smalls closer, crouching awkwardly on his good leg. "This'll hurt a bit," he says, "but it'll help too, 'kay? Show me ya hands."

Smalls holds out her arms without hesitation and Crutchie's heart seizes at the open trust in the gesture. He finishes braiding the strips of cloth together and then wraps one plait around her tiny wrist. Pulling it as snug as he can, he looks up and makes sure she's ready before sliding the fabric up beneath the iron band.

It's slow going, easing the cloth into the narrow gap between the iron and her tender skin. Smalls bites her lip, scrunching up her face to hide her whimpers whenever the fabric scrapes at a scab. Crutchie moves as carefully as he can but he knows he can't take too much time; the risk of the warlocks' meeting ending and their masters coming for them gets higher every minute. When he finally gets the handmade bracelet settled into place under her band, he squeezes her fingertips reassuringly.

"Youse doin' great, kid," he says, swiping at a stray tear that's escaped down her cheek. "Up for anotha?" Smalls glances between her wrists, then takes a deep breath and nods. Crutchie gets the second bracelet on her with even less struggle and he makes sure the bands hide them well enough before nodding. "There ya go. Feel betta?"

Smalls twists her wrists experimentally, a furrow between her eyebrows as she stares with intense focus. "It don't scratch," she says in surprise.

Crutchie beams. "Oughta stop them bands scraping at ya skin s'much," he says. "Our li'l secret." Smalls returns his conspiratorial wink, grinning up at him as she continues to flex her wrists.

Crutchie straightens up and his good leg spasms beneath him as he struggles upright, almost sending him to the ground. Then there's a pair of hands on his arm, a narrow shoulder sturdy beneath his elbow that gives him enough balance to get up and tuck his crutch back under his arm. Smalls watches him for a second, making sure he's okay before she lets go of his arm. "Thanks, kid," he says appreciatively, leaning his weight onto the crutch to lessen the burn in his muscles. He ruffles her hair and Smalls huffs, batting his hand away while trying to hide her smile.

The door to the anteroom slams open and all of them flinch at the same time. It's just as much an ingrained habit as it is to immediately line up and filter out of the room, falling into place behind their warlocks. Crutchie spares a final, secretive smile for Smalls as she heads off to her warlock, a balding member of the king's entourage that he doesn't recognize. A sharp whistle falls on Crutchie's ears like a whip crack and he picks up his pace.

Mr. Snyder is an unpleasant man on the best of days, and the expression on his face doesn't give Crutchie much hope that he's having a good day. Safe bet that the meeting didn't go well, which is bad news for Crutchie but good news in general. Snyder is the warlock who manages the Refuge, the prison for juvenile Fey who haven't been assigned work. If the king is berating Snyder, that means the Refuge numbers haven't been going up, which means that many more Fey kids who still have their freedom.

"Useless cripple," Snyder jeers in greeting when Crutchie catches up to him. Yeah, definitely bad news for Crutchie. He hurries to keep up with the warlock as he crosses the corridor and steps into the main hall. Most of the other warlocks are already gone and when they get to the entrance hall, there's only one small cluster of people standing beside the doors. Crutchie has only seen them in person a few times since he was picked up by Snyder, but he would recognize those faces anywhere.

"What do you mean," growls King Pulitzer, his tone of forced calm doing nothing to mask the anger vibrating beneath, "that it got away?" The king makes for an intimidating figure, towering high in his sharp, black suit. His graying hair is trimmed in precise lines that accentuate the angles of his face, and the signet ring of his house glimmers bright on his hand.

Opposite the king is his right-hand man and number one lickfinger, Mr. Wiesel. He's a high-level warlock that Pulitzer uses primarily for enforcing the law, cruel and efficient but also cunning. The kids at the Refuge took to calling him the Weasel. He's flanked, as usual, by his stone-faced goons and extra muscle, the Delanceys; to this day, Crutchie still hasn't figured out _what_ they are, only that they aren't Fey or human.

"There was a complication," says Weasel. "Someone else found the star first."

Snyder slows his pace to less-than-leisurely, clearly eavesdropping under the pretense of crossing the entrance hall. With the way even his good leg is threatening to buckle, Crutchie is all too happy to match the slower speed.

Pulitzer draws himself up even higher, eyebrows shifting to form a dangerous V. "Who?" he demands. "Another warlock? Or one of the Children?" He fidgets at his collar for a moment, where Crutchie knows that normally a gold chain would hold the Gem of Stormhold. There had been rumors that the gem has made its traditional vanishing act, but Crutchie's heart leaps to see it's true. He doesn't know what's coming, but he won't be sorry to see the end of Pulitzer's rule.

"A Fey boy," Weasel says, averting his gaze.

" _What_?!" Pulitzer's voice shakes the room like thunder and everyone - even the Delanceys, who normally don't react to much of anything - recoils. "You mean to tell me that you allowed my star to be stolen by some runaway Fey child?"

"He had a Babylon candle," Weasel hurries to explain. "They escaped before I could stop them."

"A Babylon candle? They could be anywhere by now!" Pulitzer shouts. "For all we know, they could've crossed the Wall, and my star is now nothing but a useless rock."

Weasel clears his throat, visibly bracing himself for his next sentence. "I don't think they would've left Stormhold. You see, Lady Katherine was with them."

The tidal wave of magic that flares off the king is staggering. It lights up the hex marks on Crutchie's leg, and he crumples with a yelp, the sudden, explosive pain blinding him to everything else for a moment. He curls on his side, clutching the spasming muscle in his thigh and breathing heavily through his teeth to stop himself from making more noise. Snyder growls above him but is cut off by another voice.

"What are you still doing here, Mr. Snyder?" Pulitzer snaps furiously, storming across the hall. "Don't you have other business to be attending to, instead of eavesdropping on conversations that don't concern you?"

"I wasn't eavesdropping, your majesty," Snyder scrambles to cover. "I swear it. I was just on my way out, but this damned cripple is so slow."

Pulitzer narrows his eyes suspiciously. "No, you know what I think? You overheard something you shouldn't have, and now you're thinking about stealing from me. Is that it? You heard that there's a star in Stormhold and you're hoping to get your hands on it."

Snyder is nearly shaking in fear as the power of the king's fury washes over him. "I would never betray you like that. I have no intentions of looking for the star."

"Oh, look all you like," Pulitzer says, lips curling up into a mocking smirk. A pale green glow blossoms in his hand -reigniting the fire in Crutchie's leg - and he reaches out to grab Snyder's shoulder, fingers digging in like claws. "You can search from one end of the world to the other, but you will never find the star. You will not see it, hear it, or feel it, even if it's standing right in front of you."

The swirl of magic brightens, casting a sickly light over Snyder's face, and then Pulitzer draws back. He dusts his hands together like he's trying to wipe away the filth of touching the other man. "Go, Snyder, and get back to the job you've been given," the king sneers dismissively. "And hopefully you've learned your lesson about listening where you're not wanted."

Gesturing to Weasel, Pulitzer strides out of the hall, leaving Crutchie alone with Snyder. The door barely closes behind the king when Snyder wheels on Crutchie, still huddled on the floor. "You lousy, stupid crip," the warlock snarls angrily. He snatches up the abandoned crutch and swings it, striking Crutchie hard in the stomach. "Do you understand what you've ruined for me?" Every other word is punctuated by another hit, driving the breath out of Crutchie and making the pain in his leg spark again. "I'll take this out of your hide, little man."

Snyder makes a twisting gesture, and Crutchie feels the magic curl tight around his ankles, sinking in like hooks. The warlock turns and stalks out the castle doors, and the tug of magic drags Crutchie roughly across the floor behind him. He can't help himself this time; Crutchie screams.

* * *

The deck of the Brooklyn is a hive of organized chaos as soon as the sun sinks beyond the horizon. It seems like every boy knows precisely where he needs to be at every moment, crisscrossing the deck to loosen ropes and extend sails. Davey and Jack, as the designated new kids, are sent to the quarterdeck where Specs is manning the helm, if only to be out of the way of everyone else. Spot manages it all from the middle of the deck, barking orders at the boys as they clamber up and down ropes.

Once the ship is out into open water, Spot shouts for everyone to get back down to the deck. "Ties on!" the captain bellows.

"Youse gonna wanna strap in," Specs cautions, nodding toward the railing in front of the helm where several lengths of rope are hanging. Davey and Jack exchange bemused looks, and as the star glances out onto the deck, he can see that all of the pirates are preoccupied with coiling ropes around themselves. Specs talks them through looping the ropes around their waists and double-checks their knots, then moves back to the helm and wraps a rope tied to one of the spokes around his wrist.

"All counted for?" Spot yells across the deck and gets a chorus of agreements. He's got one arm tangled up in a piece of rope on the mast as he leans over the grate to the lower deck. "We's good, Finch! Whene'er youse ready!" The ship begins to vibrate ever so slightly, a low-frequency hum that resonates inside the wood and makes the hairs on Davey's arms stand on end. "Boots, JoJo, at the ready," the captain hollers, and a boy at either side of the deck waves in reply. Grinning, Spot turns toward the helm. "Ya heard 'em, Specs, let's get'er up."

"Aye aye, Cap," Specs calls back. With the arm that's not tied to the helm, he leans over and pulls back on a lever sticking up from the floorboards.

Davey yelps in surprise as the vibration picks up and the ship abruptly lurches, sending the star staggering back until the rope pulls taut around his stomach. The bow lifts, the sound of the water changing as the wood rises free. The two pirates Spot called to haul on their chains and another set of sails unfurl from the sides of the hull like wings. Just as Specs gets the lever all the way back, the wind catches in the side sails and the ship leaps skyward at a dizzying speed.

A startled laugh escapes Davey as he watches the ocean surface dropping away, the wind rushing through his hair. On the deck, other boys are whooping and shouting to each other, teasing the boys who've lost their balance and are struggling to get back on their feet. Spot stands at the center, beaming as he hangs off the main mast and tips his face up into the wind.

"Christ!" Jack says breathlessly. When Davey looks over, the boy is on one knee and seems to be having a hard time getting back up, clutching awkwardly at the railing. He's grinning though, head turned up to watch the traces of clouds that are growing ever closer.

"Warned ya ta' hold on," Specs says, laughing. He turns the helm, steering them over an updraft that propels the ship further skyward. "Youse lucky, that was a pretty smooth jump. When Finch ain't here to run the lift engines, it's a lot bumpier." They are just below cloud level now and Specs cranks the lever back the other direction slowly, the ship gradually evening out beneath them. "And we're up!" Specs shouts when the lever is back to its original position.

"Alright, boys," Spot hollers. "Back ta' ya positions and tie off the riggin'. First watch is up, rest o' ya, galley and bed. You knows the drill." The deck explodes into life again, boys untying their supports and scurrying to do their jobs. Spot prowls around the deck, keeping an eye on things.

"Hey Race," Specs calls as the curly-haired boy passes the stairs. "Show the new kids down the galley?"

Race smirks. "C'mon, boys, time ta' meet the crew." Davey follows Jack down to the main deck and they trail behind Racetrack as he clambers down the steps into the hull. There are already a half dozen boys moving up and down the corridor, all of them walking with purpose and chatting with the others that they pass. A couple cast curious glances at Jack and Davey as Race leads them into a large room at the front of the ship. The open space is filled with a jumble of mismatched tables and chairs, and a handful of boys are already making themselves comfortable.

"Buttons, getcha ass off the table!" Race says loudly. "We's gotta eat off that."

One of the boys makes a show of wiggling in his perch on the tabletop. "Ain't nobody gonna be able to eat afta lookin' at youse ugly mug anyway." An uproar of noise greets that, laughter and hooting, and Race makes a rude hand gesture at the boy on the table. "What's'is? You gots some new kids?"

"Boys, these is Jack and Davey," Race says, clapping them both on the back. "They's gonna hitch with us a bit."

One of the boys, a tall and lanky kid who's fidgeting with a slingshot, gives them an appraising look. "Welcome ta' the crew," he says and there's something knowing in his eyes that makes Davey's heartbeat ratchet up. Does he recognize them, despite Spot's assurance no one would? Does he know they're supposed to be dead? The boy's smile softens slightly and he tucks the slingshot into his belt. "Name's Finch."

"Finchy's first mate," Race supplies. "So he's like Cap. He says ya do somethin', ya do it."

"And if Racer tells ya to do anythin', hit him," Finch says, smirking. "So here's the thing; ev'rything on this ship goes in shifts. That way we's always got guys on deck, case something happens. 'Cept during a storm, then it's all hands on deck. Got it?" He waits until both of them nod in response before he continues. "Good. Since youse new, we'll figure where to stick ya tomorrow. For now, just make ya'selves comfy. Meet the guys and get a feel for the ship, yeah?"

"But don't touch nothin' if ya don' know what it is," Race adds. "That's how ya get zapped, right Blink?"

"Aw shaddup," a stocky boy with an eyepatch says as the others lean in to jostle him playfully. "Was one time."

Finch chuffs and claps both the newcomers on the shoulders. "Right, well hate to be a bumma, but I gotta lie down," he says. "Nice to meet'cha, welcome to the crew. And if any the boys give ya too much trouble, youse welcome to give 'em a soakin' so long as ya don't break nothin'." Waving a hand in reply to the various farewells being shouted at him, Finch turns and heads down the hall.

"Takin' off always wipes him," Race explains offhandedly. "He'll be back to normal in the mornin'." He steers Jack and Davey over to a table before they can say anything else, and the rest of the boys immediately launch back into their conversations.

It's difficult to keep up with everything, and David's head is spinning just from trying. For the most part, it seems like the boys are just getting caught up with each other, bringing the ones who've been off ship back up to speed on all the gossip. New boys wander in on occasion and Davey doesn't know whether it's worth remembering their names because he can't tell whether they're real names or teasing nicknames. It's chaotic and overwhelming, and if it weren't for Jack as a steady, familiar presence beside him, Davey's not sure he would've been able to handle it.

A wiry ginger abruptly scoots over from the next table, leaning forward on his elbows and smirking. "So, what brings ya fellas to the Brooklyn?"

At the next table, Race snorts loudly. "Whaddya think, stupid? Why's we all here?"

"Well, I know _that_ ," the redhead drawls sarcastically. "I meant why _now_? Youse obviously not from the Refuge. And it just ain't of'en we get two new fellas the same time."

Davey is wide-eyed, glancing between the ginger and Race and Jack uncertainly. Thankfully Jack looks distinctly unruffled. "Got on the wrong side a warlock," he says with a self-deprecating grin. A few of the other boys make noises of comprehension, exchanging knowing looks. "Figured he'd have a hard time followin' us up here."

"It works," chimes in a dark-haired boy beside Race. Two others hum in agreement, including the one with the eyepatch.

"How long's ya thinkin' of sticking 'round?" the ginger asks curiously.

Race rolls his eyes and leans over to smack the redhead across the back of the head. "Since when ya been a detective?" he asks glibly. "Leave 'em alone, Albert, let the poor fellas get settled in 'fore ya bother 'em to death. Spot says they's good, so they's good."

"Geez, I's just askin' a question," Albert says with a shrug. He reaches out and snatches the cigar tucked into Race's pocket.

"Hey, that's mine!" Race says, swiping for it, but Albert leans back to hold it out of his reach.

"Like ya ain't got othas," the redhead says. "Know for a fact ya stole a whole box at market."

"Yeah, but it wasn't so _you_ could steal 'em," Race counters. He tries to grab it again but Albert stands up and bolts for the door, and Race is immediately on his tail. The boys left in the room chuckle amongst themselves and go back to what they were doing before.

The dark-haired boy comes over to Jack and David's table and grins warmly. "Don't worry 'bout them, they do that all the time," the boy says. "Name's Elmer, by the way. Ya both look tired. Anyone show youse to the bunks?" When the both shake their heads, Elmer laughs. "Figured not. I can show ya if you wanna."

Jack glances sidelong at Davey and then nods. "That'd be great, thanks," he says.

Elmer beams. "C'mon then." He leads them into the corridor, and off to one side, a large open archway leads into a room that takes up most of that side of the ship. Lanterns hang along the walls, staggered at intervals, and two rows of hammocks extend the full length of the room. Some of the hammocks are occupied, boys curled up beneath blankets or sitting up with their legs hanging off the sides. Several of them have decorations tacked to the wall above their hammocks, little bits of personalization that give Davey the impression that these are boys who stay on the ship full-time.

"Most these ones is empty, take ya pick," Elmer says once they are about halfway down the row, gesturing ahead of him. Davey steps passed him and leans experimentally against one, stumbling slightly when the fabric sways under his weight. Elmer unsuccessfully masks a snort. "They take a bitta gettin' used to," the pirate says diplomatically, "but they's nice up here. Use ta' have bunks, but then the ship hits a current or sommat and ya'd end up on the floor. Not a nice wake-up."

Jack leans against the post at the end of the hammock beside Davey's, folding his arms over his chest. "Thanks," he says. "Anythin' else we gotta know?"

"Not tonight," Elmer says with a laugh. "Get some sleep. Youse gonna have a long day tomorra, lots to learn." He claps Jack on the shoulder, nods to Davey, and then winds his way back down the row to hop onto his own hammock.

"Davey?" Jack's voice pulls his attention up and the star glances over curiously. "You good?"

David drags up a weary smile and he nods. "Just a lot to take in, you know?" he says. He holds onto the edge of the hammock and awkwardly tilts himself into it, flopping inelegantly onto his rear and nearly tipping out the opposite side. Jack lunges forward and grabs onto Davey's leg to steady him, laughing, while the star struggles into a sitting position. "Thanks," David says once he's sure he's not going to fall out.

He looks up and finds Jack standing between his splayed legs, one hand still clutching just above David's knee. Davey swallows, his throat suddenly dry, and Jack's dark eyes flick to the movement. They linger there, a tentative moment heavy with something, and then Jack abruptly steps back and lets his hand fall. "You gonna manage?" he asks, tone instantly back to teasing amusement.

"It's harder than it looks," David says, fighting a blush. He lowers his voice and adds, "Balance isn't something I've ever really had to deal with until recently."

Jack snorts, amused. "Miracle you don't fall over walkin' with them legs," he mutters and shakes his head. "Youse nothin' but limbs." He tugs off his shoes and shrugs out of his suspenders. After Jack hangs his shirtsleeves and hat on the post at the end of the hammock, he grabs the canvas and hauls himself in effortlessly. He stretches out on his back, arms folded behind his head, and shoots a pointed grin at Davey.

"Show off," David grumbles. He doesn't dare lean down to try and take his shoes off, scared of falling out onto his head, so he simply toes out of them; thankfully they are a borrowed pair of boots that are slightly too big, and they slide off easy enough. Clutching the edges, Davey twists to bring his legs up as well and grins when he manages to get straightened out without tipping. He shucks off his shirt and tosses it onto the end post, where it drapes haphazardly, and then lays down. "Nicer than the ground," he admits once he's settled.

"Far as beds go, one of the comfier I's had," Jack agrees.

Davey tucks his hands under his head, staring up at the dark ceiling of the cabin. There is a low murmur of voices from the other boys as they settle into their own beds and the scattered candles in the room send flickering gold speckles across the walls. The ship is swaying gently, coasting on the air currents, and the hammocks swing in time with it.

Even though he generally has a hard time sleeping at night, Davey finds the gentle white noise relaxing and his muscles uncoil. It doesn't take long before there are soft snores coming from the next hammock and the sound warms something in David's gut. Somehow that sound has become familiar over the last few days and it calms him. Which is, of course, the root of his problem.

Davey might be naïve about some things, but he knows that his feelings for Jack have shifted from friendly to infatuation at some point. Or maybe the infatuation was always there from the beginning, his unfamiliar human body sending him signals he didn't know how to interpret at the time. Either way, he knows what he's feeling now.

Sometimes he even thinks that maybe Jack feels it as well. They have moments like before, where he stands closer than is appropriate and something hovers between them, unspoken and electric. Jack always seems to be touching him, pulling him close or leaning into him, and Davey doesn't think he's imagining the looks he sometimes catches.

Of course, in the end, it doesn't matter what either of them does or does not feel because they have a deadline. Because as soon as they get to the Wall, Jack is going to Santa Fe and Davey is going home. No point indulging something that can only be temporary.

* * *

Jack wakes to a sickening jolt in his stomach as the entire world flips. His alarmed shout is cut off when he collides with the floor, knocking the wind out of him. Above him, he can hear laughter and his brain slots the pieces together. Groaning, he rolls over onto his back and glares up at the handful of boys standing over him. "Up an' at 'em, fellas," Race says with a shit-eating grin. Jack glances sideways and sees Davey is also in an undignified heap on the floor, blinking in confusion. "Finchy's waitin' for ya in the galley."

"A'right," Jack says, grunting as he shoves up onto his elbows. "We's comin'." The boys start to filter away and Jack promptly stretches his leg out, snagging his foot around Race's ankle. The curly-haired boy yelps as he trips into another boy, flinging arms around his neck to stay upright. "Careful, Race," Jack says, sitting up and putting on an expression of faux innocence. "Youse gonna hurt ya'self if ya don't watch where you walkin'."

Race shoots him a sarcastic look but several of the other boys grin, nodding their approval to Jack. He looks sideways and sees Davey attempting to hide his smile, and Jack's heart leaps. Trying to distract himself, he clambers out from beneath his upturned hammock and grabs his shirt. He pulls on his hat and leans against the post to wait for Davey. The star is yawning as he tugs on his shirt, shadows heavy underneath his eyes.

"You get any sleep?" Jack asks, frowning.

Davey huffs at his tangled sleeve, twisting it free before answering. "Yeah, a bit," he agrees. "Just still not used to sleeping at night, you know?"

Jack leans over and ruffles the star's already sleep-tousled hair, smirking when David half-heartedly bats him away. "Jus' be careful, wouldja? Try not ta' fall off the ship or somethin'."

"I'm not _that_ clumsy," Davey counters, which isn't particularly convincing since he's clinging to the bedpost with one hand while the other tugs on a shoe. When Jack muffles a snicker, David shoots him an annoyed look that isn't even remotely convincing. "Shut up. Maybe I'd be able to think better if I hadn't just been dumped on my head."

"Hey, it's a good thing," Jack says. Davey straightens up, brow furrowed, and Jack slings an arm over his shoulders. "Means they like ya. S'how they let'cha know youse part of the group."

"That's ridiculous," David mutters but he's smiling softly.

They weave through the boys in the process of changing shifts, some blearily getting dressed while others are yawning as they climb into bed. The dining room is less crowded than the night before and it's easy to spot Finch sitting at a table with Specs and Albert.

"Food, if youse hungry," Finch says, gesturing at a low counter laid out with bowls of porridge. Jack and Davey both grab one before joining them at the table.

"Didja get a proper wake-up?" Albert asks, smirking.

Jack laughs. "Ain't the worst one I've had."

"Was Race's idea," Specs says. "Welcome ya ta' the crew an' all." Jack shoots a pointed look at Davey, who deliberately ignores him.

"So, plan for today is gettin' youse two caught up on how things work 'round here," Finch says. "Gonna try and teach you s'much as we can, least the basic stuff, so you can be useful when we needs ya. This time o' year, we get storms comin' least every coupa days, so we gotta have ya ready in case."

As soon as they finish shoveling down their breakfasts, Finch gives them a tour of the ship, explaining each area and its purpose in quick summaries. He also introduces them to any of the boys they pass that Jack and Davey haven't met yet, and Jack is positive that he's not going to remember most of the names. They travel across the upper and lower decks, and Finch shows them where the rigging for each set of sails is at, "but you won't have to worry 'bout them much yet, and if they do has ya help, there'll be othas here to tell ya what to pull."

Once they finish on the deck, they move back down into the hull. "Youse already seen the galley and bunks," Finch says with a casual wave of his hand. "These doors o'er here is all storage, 'cept that one to the end, that's the kitchen. Then we got _this_ room," he says, walking backwards down the hall toward the back of the ship. "Most 'portant room on the ship, and ain't much o' nobody is allowed in usually. So don't touch nothin', got it?"

The room takes up the entire back width of the ship, a cavernous space full of sweltering heat and a faint humming. Jack feels the hairs on his arms stand on end as soon as they pass through the door. Most of the room is taken up by an enormous metal machine of some kind, a hulking middle piece surrounded by smaller chambers and covered in gauges. Braided metal wiring weaves in and out through everything, and cables the size of Jack's forearms disappear down through holes in the floorboards at intervals.

"What on earth is that?" Jack asks, awed.

"This is Dolly," says a voice from somewhere inside the machinery. A minute later, a pair of legs appears and then Racetrack wriggles out from beneath the pipes, wearing a pair of bulky work gloves and a ragged bandana tied over the lower half of his face. He sits up and tugs the bandana down, grinning. "Dolly is what keeps us flyin'."

"It's the ship's engine," Finch says. "It's also the collector for the lightning. Channels up through them wires and stores in the chambers."

"So the engine is actually powered _by_ the lightning?" Davey asks in amazement. "That's incredible."

Race beams and pats the nearest bit of piping fondly. "She's a wonda', she is."

"He's just sayin' that 'cause he built most it," Finch intones with a smirk.

Jack glances at Race in surprise and the other boy grins cheekily. "Was just a few bits o' rust when we got 'er. Now she runs like a champ."

"Where'd you learn to do all this?" Davey asks curiously, stepping in to peer at the gauges and obviously resisting the urge to move even closer.

"Just figured it," Race says, shrugging. "Someone had ta' make it work or we weren't gonna get nowhere. So I jus' took it part and put it back togetha until I figured how it worked." He grumbles, poking at one particular gauge with an annoyed expression. "Now if I could jus' figure this lift engine so we don't gotta use Finchy, we'd be set."

Jack turns to the first mate, who shrugs offhandedly. "On'y thing the Brooklyn can't handle on 'er own is gettin' up inta the sky. Needs a good bit of magic to do it, more 'an any us can do alone. My Knack, it's hard to 'splain, but I sorta make things stronger. Usually, it works betta with otha people's Knacks, makes them more powerful. But I can work it on Dolly here too - one kid pushes their magic into it, and I make it stronger - and it gets her 'nough power to get us airborne."

"That's what you were saying last night," David says, looking down at Race. "That take-offs are exhausting for him."

"Ain't so bad as it used ta be," Finch says and bats a hand dismissively. "Firs' time, took four of us and I slept for like a week afta. Neva used my magic like that 'fore. Just took some practice. Got it down 'nough now we can do it just me and Race."

Race huffs, fidgeting with a bit of loose wire. "Right, ya showed 'em Dolly, now can ya go? One the chamba's is leakin' and I gotta get it fixed 'fore we find a storm, or we's all gonna get a bit zapped." He dismisses them with a flippant wave of his hand before crawling back under the engine, muttering to himself.

"Watch out for him when he comes out later," Finch warns when he shuts the door behind them. "He gets static in him when he's workin' like that, likes to run 'round and shock fellas."

"I can't believe he managed to figure out all of that machinery by himself," Davey says in awe. "That's a lot of work."

"Way fancier 'an any the stuff we got back home," Jack agrees.

Finch nods, leading them back toward the other end of the ship. "He can be an ass most times, but kid's ach'ly damned smart," he says, a fondness behind his smile that softens the jab. "One the few us that got a bituva education. An' afta the thing with his old man, he made it on his own for a good bit 'fore we found him." He stoops to open another hatch in the floor, revealing a set of steps that descend further into the ship's belly. "Last stop."

The lowest level is nearly pitch black, the glow from the open hatch the only light source. Finch snags a lantern from the wall and lights it, lifting it to cast a pale orange light into the room. A narrow path goes down the middle, and on either side are enormous heaps of rope, piled almost all the way to the ceiling and extending half the length of the room. "These is the lightnin' nets."

"They're massive," Davey says. "How do you get them in and out?"

"Hatches in the floor," Finch says, pointing. "Then we gots some pulleys ta' get 'em back in."

Jack leans in, a glimmer of reflective light in the ropes catching his attention. "This copper?" he asks curiously.

"Yep, wove through it all," say Finch. "Draws the lightnin' in an' carries it up those wires ya saw upstairs, straight into Dolly. Youse lucky we saw ya and tossed down a proper net 'stead of lettin' ya get caught in these things. That woulda smarted." Jack looks up, keeping his expression as neutral as he can. Davey, on the other hand, is making a poorly concealed attempt not to panic. "Relax, wouldja?" Finch says, laughing. "I's been with Spot from the start, I know how thin's work 'round here. Youse fine. So, now youse had the tour. Let's find ya some jobs."

* * *

It surprises Davey just how quickly they settle in with the crew of the Brooklyn. They spend the rest of the day rotating through chores with different pirates, who are all-too-willing to teach the newcomers how everything works. It's a full day of scaling the rigging and memorizing ropes and pulleys, learning terminology for the different parts of the ship and sails.

For a group of kids - most of whom are orphans or exiled from their homes - they're shockingly friendly and welcoming. Each of them eagerly drags the new boys into whatever they're doing, playfully teasing them as they stumble through learning so much new stuff. They are trailed the entire time by Les, who the entire crew treats with the fond exasperation of older siblings, pretending to be annoyed by his presence but always including him.

Jack, of course, has no trouble fitting in with the pirates. As far as Davey can tell, there's basically nothing that can make Jack turn off the charm. He falls into easy banter with the other boys immediately, and there seems to be some sort of camaraderie that comes from being outcast kids. Jack's in his element surrounded by these fellow orphans and forgotten children, knowing exactly what sort of stories and jokes will make the most impact with them. By lunchtime, several of the younger ones seem to adopt him as some sort of hero and none more so than Les, who Davey quickly realizes it prone to embellishing any story he hears.

At the same time, the boys adopt Davey just as much. None of them seems to care that he's sometimes awkward and hesitant in his actions, or that he doesn't always understand their jokes. When he uses a word they don't know, they just laugh and roll their eyes in amusement, like his vocabulary is just a silly quirk like Race's cigars and Buttons' fidgeting. They don't treat him any differently and David finds himself opening up more as the day goes by.

It's late afternoon before they get something like a break; Specs sits them down against the back rails, in an open spot where they can enjoy the breeze, to practice knot tying. Davey welcomes the chance to sit down for a minute, tired from running lengths of the ship all morning on top of still not sleeping well. Specs is a patient teacher, guiding them through each type of knot and its purpose. It's also the first time they find something on the ship where Davey is better than Jack.

"Wait, no, do it again," Jack says, frowning at the little length of rope in his hand like it's actively resisting him.

"Over first," Specs says as he demonstrates the motion.

"Nah, I got that," says Jack, fluttering a hand impatiently. "It's that twisty bit. What'd you do there?" Specs goes through the motion again but when Jack tries to imitate it, his knot comes undone. "Oh for cryin' out loud."

"You're bringing it through the wrong loop," Davey explains. He nods, prompting Jack to attempt the knot again. When he gets to the part that's been giving him trouble, Davey leans in and drags his hand toward the right spot. "Go through there," he says, leading him into the right loop. "Then tug."

Jack finishes threading the rope through and then pulls. His eyebrows shoot up when the knot actually holds for once, settling into the heavy twist Specs demonstrated. "Hey, I got it!" Jack says excitedly. "Davey, youse brilliant."

David shrugs, feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck. "It's easy once you figure out the patterns," he says self-consciously. Jack doesn't respond, busy picking apart the knot to try it again. He is slow and deliberate in the movement, but he succeeds and his grin is blinding. "See, you've got it."

"Don't worry, lots of the guys ain't good at knots when they started," Specs says. "Just gotta practice. Took Mush ages ta' figure it out, couldn't trust him with nothin' for like the first year. Almost dropped a lightning chamba on Race once 'cause his knot was bad. S'how he got his name, 'cause he almost mushed him flat."

Methodically untying and retying his knot, Jack howls with laughter. Davey smiles, shaking his head, and he feels the question finally bubble up. "Mush?" he echoes in amusement. "Okay, I've got to ask; the nicknames?"

Specs chuckles, coiling the bit of rope around into another knot. "Yeah, I ain't surprised," he says. "Ev'ryone does soona or later - No, ya gotta go 'round the top, yeah, like that. Anyway, the names, it's just sorta part of the life, bein' a Fey. See, ya got three kindsa kids on this ship, mostly. First kind is ones like Racer and Dutchy, what had names but picked new ones when they got away from they families and such. Second, ya got the ones like me that just neva had a name 'fore."

David looks up, frowning. Specs seems entirely casual about the remark, and even Jack doesn't seem all that surprised by the comment. He catches Davey's expression and shrugs. "Happened back at the orphanage too," says Jack. "Get kids dropped off without names. The home'd give 'em one, but if the kid didn't like it, he'd just pick a dif'rent one."

"Makes ya feel important, giving ya'self a name," Specs says, nodding. "Like ya matta enough to be called somethin'. Lots us Fey kids, we ended up away from our families 'fore we was old enough to know our names. Me, I was in the Refuge by four. Warlocks and the Bulls, they couldn't be bothered ta' name us, so we named each otha. Usually was things that made ya dif'rent from the otha kids, things that stuck out."

"Like wearing glasses," Jack guesses.

Specs grins and nudges his glasses back into place. "Right. That's how ya get ones like me and Blink and Boots. Then ya got ones like Sniper and Romeo, those come from they Knacks."

"But not everyone has names like that," Davey points out. "Some of you have normal names."

"Them's the third kinda kid," Specs says. "The one's that still got family out there somewhere, or least ones that care. Albert and Henry, they got folks that snuck 'em off before the Bulls could find 'em. And Elmer, he's got his ma and sista's. His old man ran him off when they found out he was Fey, but I know he sneaks back ev'ry few months to see the girls if he can."

"Les?" Jack asks, tone hesitant like he's afraid to hear the answer.

Specs laughs, fiddling with the strip of rope that he's knotted into an elaborate loop. "He'll pro'lly get a nickname 'ventually. Ain't really been with us long enough. He's a proper stowaway. Guess his parents was tryna get him outta Stormhold 'fore the Bulls got him. There was a bituva toss up at the docks and they tell him to hide. Nutty kid decides the best place to hide is inside a pirate ship." He snorts, shaking his head. "Kid was on the ship almost three months 'fore we found him. Was usin' his Knack to keep hid and sneakin' food when we was sleepin'. Thought we had a rat problem, was makin' Spot crazy."

Jack chuckles appreciatively and Davey feels himself naturally echoing the expression; he can't help but find the brotherly relationship forming between Jack and the youngest crew member incredibly sweet.

"So I get Specs and Race and all," Jack says thoughtfully. "But what's the deal with Spot? Ain't exactly a fierce pirate name."

"Which is why we on'y call him Spot on the ship," Specs says, but he's smiling too. "Sorry, but I ain't tellin' that one. That's Spot's business. You wanna know, ask him."

Jack glances toward the helm, where Spot is leaning on the wheel and surveying the horizon of clouds with a narrowed gaze, and for a moment, Davey thinks he's actually going to do it. Then Jack shrugs and nudges Specs with his foot. "Show me that last one again."

* * *

The lightning storm rolls up on them in the middle of their third night. As soon as the first clap of thunder sounds, everyone on the Brooklyn whirs into action. Every crew member has assigned tasks during a storm netting, and that now includes Jack and Davey. They catch the rain slickers Elmer tosses at them and pull them on as they charge up to the deck.

It's only lightly raining at the moment, the Brooklyn still coasting along the outer edge of the storm, and Jack stops short for a moment to stare at the sky. Billowing towers of thick gray clouds form entire mountain ranges ahead of them, shifting and morphing like ocean waves. Everything is blurred around the edges by the sheets of rain, except for when enormous bolts of lightning fracture through the clouds and turn the world to pure white.

"Gonna want these," Albert says as he presses a pair of goggles into Jack's hands. "C'mon, new kid, gotta get them nets out." Jack spares a glance over his shoulder for Davey, only to see that the star has already been dragged off by someone else. Tugging on the goggles, Jack chases Albert across the deck.

The series of openings along the side rails that would hold cannons in a normal pirate ship have been repurposed into a complicated weave of pulleys. Jack has spent the last two days learning what each segment of rope is attached to and what exact order they need to be moved to get the nets out properly. He falls into line between Albert and Boots, grabbing hold of the rope and waiting for the signal.

"Alright, fellas, on my count!" Spot bellows from his typical place near the mast. He looks to both sides, making sure both lines are ready, then holds up a hand. "Three, two, one, _pull_!"

Jack hauls back along with the others and the ship lurches beneath them as the bottom opens up. Another set of ropes releases the cables holding the nets in place, and the ship drops for a moment as the enormous nets fall free. Amazed, Jack clutches the railing and watches as the two nets, both larger than the main deck, unfurl into the sky behind the ship like a billowing pair of angel's wings.

"Rail nets, now!" Spot yells and it pushes Jack back into motion. The pirates all race up and down the length of the ship, tugging free the knots that hold the smaller wire nets that roll down to drape over the sides of the ship. Rain is lashing hard and violent against the deck now, making the boards slippery, and the storm rocks the ship violently. More than once, Jack stumbles and has to grab onto a rail or rope to stay standing.

"Nets is all down, Cap," Albert shouts.

Spot nods, in the process of loosening one of the ropes around the mast. "Get them sails up," he says and hurries over to join two other boys as they start on the pulleys that control the sails. "Or we's gonna be through this storm faster 'an Dutchy with a skirt." Dutchy's response is lost beneath the rush of the wind, but Jack sees the taller boy pause in pulling ropes just long enough to smack the captain around the back of the head. Spot's teeth flash white under the lightning as he grins, a dangerous, cavalier look.

"Jack, a hand!" Finch yells and Jack scrambles over to help the first mate with his rope. While he's got a second where he's mostly holding still, Jack scans the deck until he finally finds Davey again, helping Specs to lash down the extra lightning chambers to the collector at the mast. Then the ship bounces over a cloud current and Jack staggers forward into Finch's back before he can catch himself.

Another flash of lightning, the closest one yet, illuminates the ship. Jack looks up and his stomach leaps; the landscape has only gotten more wild and treacherous, swells and curls of clouds being speared by razor-sharp lightning bolts. It sinks in, at that moment, that they are heading _into_ that, and his self-preservation instincts flare in horror. They are not only sailing into the middle of a tempest but they are going with the intention of being struck by lightning - repeatedly.

"Okay, boys, take ya posts and at the ready!" Spot roars, coiling one of the loose ropes from the mast around his forearm and bracing himself. "Time to net some lightnin'!"

Jack finds a hold in the rigging in between Finch and Buttons, wrapping the rope around his hand so tightly it almost hurts. "Get ready, new kid," Buttons says, smirking. "It's a wild ride."

The ship tosses and lurches as it's buffeted through the maelstrom, boys whooping and cheering as they are knocked sideways into each other. Sniper is at the helm, guiding them as best as he can into the thickest sections of clouds, chasing the lightning. The nets behind the ship are crackling with white sparks, scraping electricity out of the clouds as they pass through and funneling it down into the engine room.

A bolt strikes the mast and the explosion of thunder that follows is so strong Jack actually feels it, a physical blow to his chest that makes his heart freeze up for a moment. White light shoots down the interwoven metal cables that are strung the length of the mast and into the collector, a heavy device that clips to the top of lightning canisters. It's awkward and unwieldy, and moving the connector is dangerous, but it's also apparently where they get the highest-grade lightning.

Jack can't hear any of the others celebrating but he can see it, the flashes of smiles in the darkness and hands raised in triumph. The energy is contagious and Jack finds himself getting pulled into it. Each time another bolt hits the mast or rigging and fills another canister, he whoops excitedly along with the others.

Spot is in the process of switching the connector from one canister to another when a bolt of lightning sparks down unexpectedly. The force of it throws Spot back halfway across the deck and the connector thuds against the ground, crackling as the lightning spits out with nowhere safe to go. Jack reacts without thinking, letting go of the rail and sprinting to the mast. The thick neck of the connector is slippery in his hands and the power of the lightning knocks him over but he clings on and manages to crawl back up to the canisters.

Just as Jack is attempting to force the connector onto an empty canister, struggling to control the force of the storm, a second set of hands appear - tinted with a vaguely golden glow - and they get the connector clicked into place. Gasping for breath, Jack leans against the mast, but he looks up at a laugh. Spot is standing next to him, bracing his hands on his knees, and he's got what's probably the first real smile Jack's ever seen on his face.

And just like the rest of it, the humor is contagious, and Jack is laughing as he grabs onto a new hold beside the captain.

The rest of the night goes by without any more crazy interruptions, a steady collecting of lightning until the ship reaches the far side of the storm. Here, the clouds are tinged a murky green around the edges and the rain has slowed to a steady drizzle. The mood is buoyant when Spot declares that they are finished for the night and Jack joins the crew to put away the nets.

Stowing away everything takes far more time than spreading it all out does, and it's well into the morning by the time the nets have all been tied back into place and the filled canisters carted down into the engine room with the others. Jack is damp and shivering despite the rain slicker, and his muscles ache like the way they do after a full day's shift at the warehouse, but he's so full of adrenaline he can't even think about going to sleep.

"C'mon," Finch says, clapping him on the shoulder. "Gotta meet the othas in the galley."

"Why?" Jack asks, curious, as the first mate steers him toward the other end of the ship. The rest of the crew seems to be heading in the same direction, shucking off their slickers and chatting excitedly.

"Tradition," is all the answer he gets from Finch. They reach the galley and it's more crowded than Jack's ever seen it, nearly every member of the Brooklyn crew stuffed into the room. Boys are sitting on chairs and tables and even the floor, lounging against each other, laughing and jostling.

"Jack." Davey's voice jars him and Jack looks over, determinedly ignoring the way something in his chest leaps at the sound. The star looks just as pathetic as the rest of them, clothes damp in patches and hair clinging to his forehead, and the cold has made his nose and cheeks bright red. Still, it isn't until he's standing directly beside Jack that David smiles.

"That was somethin', huh?" Jack says.

"That was terrifying," Davey answers and then grins. "And also incredible." Jack laughs and throws an arm around the star's shoulders, dragging him over to find an open patch of floor to sit. They flop down into a space against the wall, behind where Buttons and Mush are having an animated conversation.

"Good take, fellas." The interruption comes in the form of Spot, Race on his tail and carrying a small wooden crate. He sets the box on the largest of the tables, shoving Henry out of the way to make room. "Almost got a full load," Spot continues. "Filled all but two canisters."

"Pro'lly woulda got them two too if someone hadn't dropped the connector mid-strike," Finch faux-whispers, shooting a significant glance at Spot.

"Wait, he did what?" asks Race, who was below deck keeping an eye on the ship's engine the whole time. A gleeful smile takes over his face as he knocks his shoulder against Spot's. The captain shoves him away and makes a rude hand gesture at Finch.

"Ya shoulda seen it," Finch says, propping his elbows on his knees. "Strike comes down and knocks Spot all way 'cross the deck, right on his ass. Then Jack there just flies in outta nowhere and grabs the thing - no magic or nothin', just bare hands - lightnin' still sparkin' out the whole time and throwing him all o'er the place."

Albert howls with laughter. "Looked like he was on some buckin' horse, like a wild west cowboy."

"Was a good save," Spot interjects gruffly. He wedges his knife into the lid of the crate, prying it up, and he pulls a large bottle of amber liquid from inside. "Coulda lost a lot more if ya didn' get it so fast, even if it was dumb grabbin' it like that. So cheers, Cowboy." He pulls the cap off the bottle, takes a large swig, and then passes it directly to Jack.

Jack smirks acerbically at the nickname but he raises the bottle. "Cheers, Cap." He takes a drink, savoring the taste as he swallows. Jack hasn't had liquor very many times, only the occasional shared drink with a dock worker or stagehand who was feeling generous, but he can tell this is decent stuff. It's strong and rich, a burnt honey flavor clinging to the back of his tongue as the whiskey burns a trail down to his stomach, easing away some of the lingering chill.

"So what'd ya think of youse first storm-netting?" Race asks as he and Spot pass out the rest of the bottles from the crate.

"Mortifying, but exhilarating," says Davey, accepting the bottle Jack hands him. He sniffs it uncertainly before taking a sip, and then his eyes go wide as he struggles not to cough. Several of the boys laugh and Jack pats him lightly on the back while David recovers his breathing.

"I dunno 'bout what he said," Jack adds, "but that was a rush."

Finch grins and toasts them with the bottle he's just stolen out of Albert's hands. "Knew ya'd fit in good."

The room dissolves back into playful chat, boys teasing and exchanging stories as they pass the half dozen bottles between them all. Jack leans back against the wall, shoulder pressed against Davey's, as they share their bottle with Buttons, Mush, and Elmer. The liquor chases away the cold and a comforting heat settles through his entire body. David is equally relaxed, slumping against the curve of the wall with his head on Jack's shoulder.

"Hey Jacky," David says after nearly an hour, his voice soft and slightly slurred. Jack fights back his smile as he hums, prompting him on. "You scared me when you did that thing, jumping on that lightning," the star admits. "Don't - it was good, but just - be careful?"

And the warmth that surges through Jack this time has absolutely nothing to do with the liquor. "Yeah, okay, Davey," he says. "I'll be careful." He glances sideways at the slumped star and chuckles. "Now gimme that bottle or youse gonna really hate ya'self tomorra."


	4. Unioned We Stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: there is a tiny bit of violence and what could maybe be construed as mild torture in this chapter. Very vague implications to past abuse. (Sorry guys, we're getting into the part of the story where we're digging up the darkest truths of this world. Side note: this story has gotten so much darker than it was in my original drafts. The things these boys do to me...) I've tried to keep things a bit vague and obscure where I can, but if that's something that's going to bother anyone, message me and I can provide a redacted version of the chapter or a summary, whichever you prefer.

As the wind tears through his clothes and the bottom drops out of his stomach, Jack immediately decides that he never wants to be below deck for another landing of the Brooklyn. The enormous ship dips below the cloud line and Jack hangs out, one arm threaded through the rigging, to peer over the edge. Lit by the midmorning sun, the coast of Stormhold stretches out for miles below them, a jagged line of pale sand and dark water freckled by ports and towns. His chest flutters with adrenaline as the ship curves in a wide circle, losing altitude as they go. After two enormous loops, the ship finally drops into the water, casting up waves as high as the mast on either side.

Jack is laughing as he wipes water from his face, leaning into the rigging to catch his breath. "Hey, Cowboy, getcha ass down here and help out, wouldja?" Spot calls from the deck, working with the others to lift the sails. 

"Keep ya shirt on, I'mma comin'," Jack shouts back, and he's still grinning as he clambers down out of the ropes and jogs over to help Albert with his side of the sail. He passes Davey on the way, who is caught up in tying off the side sails with Specs, and the star glances up to grin at him with fond exasperation. "Ah c'mon, that was fun and ya know it," Jack says, ruffling David's hair. "How many chances a guy get ta' fall outta the sky like that?"

"You're an idiot," Davey replies dryly, laughing at the private joke. He shoves Jack's hand away and smooths down his hair, which the wind promptly tosses everywhere again. Jack snickers as he ducks under a rope and falls into place behind Albert. 

Once they get the ship to the dock and the other boys scramble around the deck, all of them finishing up tying off the Brooklyn, Spot snags Jack by the elbow. "Youse two is with me," he says. When Jack raises an eyebrow, Spot smirks. "Ya got a bad habit of finding trouble. I'm keepin' my eye on youse two." 

Jack snorts. "Fair 'nough." 

"C'mon, help me load the cart," Spot says. 

Loading up the lightning canisters is hard work, hauling the bulky metal tubes first up onto the deck and then down the gangplank into a rolling handcart on the dock. Jack is sweating in only minutes, even when they recruit several other boys into forming a type of assembly line. When they finally get the last of them stacked into the cart, Jack sweeps off his cap and wipes his brow on his sleeve. 

"Racer, Cowboy," Spot says and nods to the cart pointedly. 

Jack looks at the handrails and groans. "Seriously?"

"Nah, lemme just fetch the horse," Spot drawls sarcastically. 

"Don't see why I gotta do it," Jack grumbles, even as he walks over to grab the handrail opposite Race. 

"'Cause I'm captain and Mouth's scrawny," Spot replies. David scowls, although whether it's from the nickname - the boys discovered he's a real talker when he gets going, thanks to Spot's liquor - or the scrawny comment, Jack can't be sure. "Right boys, ya know the rules. Finish ya jobs first, then times ya own. Be back on deck by sundown or youse gettin' left." Then, nodding dismissively, he turns and starts up the dock. 

"C'mon, he really don't wait," Race says, and they both grunt as they lift the front of the cart. Jack's already sore muscles protest as they start to roll the cart along the dock toward the main road. 

The market at Tryb is enormous, a hodge-podge sprawl of brightly colored stalls and shops along winding roads. It reminds Jack forcibly of home; the selling spots along Central Park have the same energy and chaos as hawkers compete with each other to draw suckers into buying their wares. Jack spent countless mornings there, barking headlines from local papes in exchange for dimes, and the familiarity is both comforting and unsettling. These hundreds of lives, drifting passed each other without leaving the faintest impressions, just remind him why he so desperately wants out of the city. 

Walking next to Spot, Davey looks equal parts overwhelmed and fascinated. It occurs to Jack that this is the most people the star's ever been around at one time, and he's a bit skittish on even a good day. Still, he's gazing around at the booths and wares with the same open wonder he gets whenever he encounters something new. It's endearing, the sort of wide-eyed innocence Jack isn't used to seeing - the kind of kids he runs with have lost their innocence far younger than they should - and he finds it hard not to smile. 

Spot leads them up the hill to a large shop with a painted glass window. A sign above the door proclaims the place " _ Jacobi's Assorted Goods _ ." The captain directs them to pull the cart around the side of the building, out of the way of the road, and then they slip into the shop. Jack can't stop his eyes from casting across everything, his startled mind struggling to comprehend the strange things on the shelves and hanging from the ceiling; exotic plants and bits of animals, gold and silver and gemstones, and arrays of tools for which he can't even fathom a purpose. 

An older man behind the long counter lifts his head at the sound of the door. He's a bit paunchy and has a dark, curly beard that hangs halfway down his chest. When his gaze lands on their group, he frowns and lets out a heavy breath. "Oh no." 

"Ah c'mon, Jacobi, what's'at 'bout?" Race asks. "Thought ya liked us?"

The man - Jacobi - darts a glance around the shop, but there's no one else inside. "You haven't heard the news?" he asks, raising an eyebrow so high it disappears below the rim of his bowler hat. Spot clenches his jaw and stares back expectantly. "King's laid out new laws, says we can't do business with known fugitives."

"Like that's eva stopped ya," Spot replies sarcastically. "I guarantee half this shop come from shady folks and criminals. No one else reckless 'nough to track down this sorta stuff." 

"Yeah, well this time he's being a bit more specific about  _ Fey _ criminals," Jacobi says. "I can go to jail just for not reporting you. The Bulls catch me buying from folks like you, they could have me killed." 

Spot hasn't shifted from his position, standing firmly with his arms folded over his chest, but Jack can see that his knuckles have gone white on his biceps. "So what, youse just gonna stop buyin' from us? Where you gonna get lightnin' from then? Ain't enough crews in the sky to supply ev'ryone." 

"Sorry, boys, but you're going to have to find someone else to sell to," Jacobi says, holding his hands out in surrender. 

"There  _ ain't  _ no one else," Spot snaps. "Not here in Tryb. Youse the on'y one ever gives us time o' day, s'why I always give ya such a good deal. We gotta make a sale 'tween Solara and Jerna, or we ain't gonna have the gold to resupply." 

Jacobi winces sympathetically but only shrugs. "I don't know what to tell you," he says. "But I can't help." 

Spot steps forward and slams his palms down on the counter. "Don't do this to me, Jacobi," he growls, and Jack catches a distant hint of desperation beneath the anger. The adult visibly flinches under the weight of the captain's stare. "You know this ain't right. We's just tryna make a livin' here. You kick me out, my boys  _ starve _ ." 

"Sorry, captain, my hands are tied. I can't sell to you," Jacobi says. When Spot opens his mouth, Jacobi raises his voice. "These boys, however," he says, tone deliberate as he gestures to Jack and David, "I have never met. I don't know that you two are criminals or Fey. So, gentlemen, what can I do for you today?" 

Jack scowls, indignant at the obvious cheap play, but Spot talks over him before he can even open his mouth. "Do it, Jack," the captain says, in a flat tone that brokers no room for argument. When Jack glances sideways at him, Spot raises an eyebrow in challenge. "Do it, 'less you wanna tell the boys why we ain't got food." 

Stomach twisting, Jack locks his jaw. He might not like it, but he gets it; sometimes when you're in charge, you gotta take a hit for your people. So he forces on an expression of faux politeness and steps toward the shopkeeper. "Don't s'pose youse int'rested in buyin' some lightnin'?" 

Spot and Jacobi negotiate their sale, using Jack as a medium, and it isn't long before the shop owner passes over a bag of gold coins. Jack hands the coins to the captain, and Spot offers a stilted nod of gratitude before they turn to the door. "Don't say I never gave ya nothing," Jacobi says to their backs. "But that's the last time. If ya need another stop, there's a fella in Quarterway might be willing, but no promise. It's a smaller market, but that might be a better idea for you nowadays. And word of advice, kid? You might want to think about changing careers. This line of work isn't going to be very profitable for your kind no more." 

"Is any?" Jack says before he can stop himself, wheeling around to face the man. Jacobi's eyebrows raise, surprised. "Just, seems to me ain't nothin' kids like us can do without gettin' into trouble." 

Jacobi shrugs, his expression sympathetic. "That's just the way of the world." 

"Yeah, well, it ain't gonna be that way foreva," Jack says fiercely, even as he feels Davey grab his elbow and tug. "And day's gonna come when folks like you can't keep hidin' behind that excuse. We's gonna be heard." 

"And ya won't be kickin' us out then," Race jumps in enthusiastically, grinning at Jack as they follow Spot out of the shop. 

* * *

Jack feels anxious and fidgety as he and Davey make their way back toward the docks, the captain's parting instructions still ringing in his ears.  _ "Youse two get back ta' the Brooklyn. Any the crew ya pass, tell 'em same. We clearly ain't welcome here no more."  _ Although Race was visibly vibrating with indignation, Spot seemed only furiously resigned as he sent them off. No matter what he says, Jack can tell what that expression means; Spot was anticipating this. Maybe not today specifically, but he knew it was coming.

"Jack?" David prompts with a gentle bump of his elbow. Jack glances sideways at the star, and something in his face makes Davey frown. "What's wrong?"

"All this," Jack says with a wave of his hand. "What kinda world makes it so kids can't even get paid for an honest day's work? I mean, the jobs back home ain't great, but at least you know there's money in it for ya. But bannin' it so these kids won't have the money to eat? It ain't right." 

David nods, his lips pressed together in a thin line. "I know." 

They slow down as they reach a stall beside the road, where Mush and Blink are haggling with the shop owner. "Hey fellas," Jack says, catching their attention. "Cap says back to the ship, soon's ya can. We's shovin' off early." 

Mush and Blink exchange significant glances, their expressions tense, and nod. "A'right," Blink says, scratching distractedly at the edge of his eyepatch. "We's comin'." 

"You see anyone else, let 'em know," Jack adds before he and Davey start walking again. 

They make it most of the way back to the docks in a tense silence, before a disruption off the main road catches Jack's attention. He throws out an arm to stop Davey, holding a finger to his lips, and his brow furrows. He thought he'd heard - Yes, there, raised voices, and not all of them adult. Before Jack can say anything, there's a distinct sound of flesh on flesh, and a high, panicked yelp sends Jack running into the side alley. 

Two men, both broad-shouldered and jeering, are backing their prey up against the wall of a building. There's a boy, not much younger than Jack with distinctly Asian features, crumpled in a heap against the wall with blood dripping from his nose. Jack's eyes are drawn to the smallest figure just in time to see one of the men wrench Les' arm around, prompting a cry of pain. 

The magic happens without a thought, an instinctive snap of something inside him just like the last time; there's a spark of blue-white light and the man drops Les like he's been burned. Jack doesn't miss a beat, furiously shoving his way into the middle of the group and planting himself between the men and the kid. "Now that weren't nice," he says, trying to keep his tone level. "Couldn't ya find no one youse own size to pick on?" 

"You volunteering?" the man replies, sneering. "Thanks for making our bonus bigger. Refuge pays by the head." 

"Les, you okay?" Jack asks over his shoulder. Les is pale and shaken, clutching his arm against his chest, but he nods. The other kid is still clearly out cold. Jack turns his focus back to the men. "Ya know, it ain't nice to go 'round pickin' on li'l kids. Not much a fair fight, is it?" 

"This ain't a fight," the goon says. He takes a pointed step forward into Jack's space, but Jack refuses to give him the satisfaction, holding his ground. "This is a bounty."

"Pretty sure they on'y do those for criminals," Jack counters. "Ya tellin' me these kids is criminals? That one's 'bout seven."

"I'm ten," Les mutters petulantly. "Almost."

The lead guy cracks his knuckles. "You're  _ Fey _ ," he says, spitting out the word like it's some horrible slur. Jack feels the fake friendliness slide immediately from his face; an old memory of hearing a half-drunk man using that same tone to throw insults at Miss Medda once comes back, fanning the flames still simmering in his gut into a proper fire. "That's good enough for me."

"You sayin' that us kids done a crime just by 'xisting? Nah, I ain't buyin' it." Jack is the one to take an aggressive step forward this time, eyes narrowing. "Ya know, where I'm from, they tried to do that to folks for a long time too. Didn't end so well for the suckas like you." 

The blow doesn't surprise him and Jack rolls with it, managing to soften some of the impact. Still, his jaw is smarting when he lifts his chin again, swinging out to make sure the guy doesn't get too close while his vision is clearing. The second guy tries to step around Jack to get to Les, and Jack kicks out to keep him back. At the same time, the first guy gets a fistful of the back of Jack's shirt, looping an arm around his throat. 

"Stop!" 

Struggling to pull the arm off his neck, Jack squints sideways and sees David in his peripherals, standing in the middle of the alley with his chin held high. A flash of panic lights in Jack's chest at the sight. The man holding Jack scoffs. "And who's you?" 

"Me?" Davey asks, gaze darting around anxiously. "Oh, I'm nobody. But it's not important who I am. What's important is who I know." 

"What's he on about?" the second man asks, holding a handful of Les' shirt as the small boy swings at him vainly. "If youse lookin' for a fight, kid, wait ya turn. Be with ya in a sec." 

The star suddenly grins, a mischievous smirk that catches them all off guard. "Oh, I'm not looking to fight you," he says matter-of-factly. "I do, however, make for an excellent distraction." 

"I'd suggest ya let the kid go." Spot's voice is so low and dangerous Jack almost doesn't recognize him for a second. The thug holding Jack pivots, making Jack stagger against the grip on his throat, but it's enough for Jack to get an idea of the scene. The second man has gone perfectly still, a sword blade resting against the side of his neck, and he grimaces as he releases Les' shirt to hold his hands out to his sides. 

"Mouth, get the kid back ta' the ship," Spot says, not taking his eyes off the man's back. Les scrambles passed Jack and his captor, cutting off Davey's indignant response, and Jack feels some of the tension bleed out of him as their footsteps retreat down the alley. Spot twitches the sword, making the second goon fidget uneasily. "Youse two picked the wrong boys ta' soak." 

"Things like you is meant to be locked up," the man behind Jack snarls. His arm flexes and Jack groans against the pressure on his throat. The spark of magic he found earlier won't come back to him, hovering just out of his grasp. He swings an elbow back into the man's chest but all that succeeds in doing is tightening the man's grip and Jack's vision darkens at the corners. 

"See, that's ya mistake," Spot growls, and his smirk is truly frightening. "Youse pickin' fights with us, thinkin' you the big guys so you gots the advantage. Well, guess what?" Spot holds out his other hand, and the skin has taken on a golden glint, just like Jack remembers seeing during the lightning storm. Jack feels the guy behind him tense, his arm tightening further. 

"Youse wrong, sucka." Race's voice comes from behind Jack, a confident laugh tinting his words. An abrupt impact sends Jack staggering forward as the man behind him goes suddenly boneless. Jack regains his footing and straightens up, coughing, just in time to see Race shaking flickers of pale orange light from his fist. "Love gettin' to do that," Race says, grinning around his trademark cigar, and he kicks the crumpled heap of man to be sure he's out. 

"Now you go back and tell all ya friends," Spot says, dragging the other man down by the collar to hiss in his ear, "this is what 'appens when ya cross the Brooklyn boys." Then Spot drops the guy with a single blow to the back of the head before letting the gold light fade from his fingers. He sheaths his sword - which Jack is only just realizing is an actual sword this time - and glances passed Jack. "How's Romeo?" 

"Out cold," Race responds, crouched by the unconscious Asian boy. "Looks like his nose is busted, but not much more 'an that." 

"Good," Spot says. "What 'bout you, Cowboy?"

"M'fine," Jack says, voice slightly hoarse, massaging the tender skin on his throat. "Been in worse scrapes than that." He bites his lip and then adds, "But, ya know, thanks." 

Spot shrugs, and they move to join Race at the other boy's side. "We take care of our own," the captain says simply. "C'mon, let's get back ta' the ship." At a gesture, Jack and Race haul the unconscious boy up and pull his arms over their shoulders. Spot leads the way as they exit the alley and head back toward the harbor, his chin held up defiantly against the curious and distrustful stares that people cast their way. 

"Cap'n?" Finch's startled voice appears just as they reach the docks, and he darts out to survey them. "Gods, what happened? That - Romeo?" 

"Did ya get word ta' ev'ryone?" Spot says, ignoring the questions. "We ready to shove off?"

"Uh, 'bout that," Finch says, falling into step beside the captain and rubbing the back of his neck. Spot shoots him a sharp look. "Crew's all back, but there's somethin' else."

"What else?" Spot growls, then must decide to see for himself because he charges up the gangplank. Jack and Race follow awkwardly, struggling not to over-balance beneath the unconscious boy's weight. The captain is standing on the deck, arms folded over his chest, but it's another voice that grabs Jack's attention. 

"Hello, Captain Conlon." Lady Katherine Plumber is standing near the mast, wearing a new dress of violet and still somehow not looking out of place in the middle of the deck. There's a wiry boy Jack doesn't recognize standing behind her, shuffling uncertainly, but Katherine doesn't acknowledge the curious looks of the pirates lingering on deck. 

Race wolf-whistles. "Damn, Cap, ya musta showed her a good time if she followed ya all way here." Laughter breaks out across the deck, boys hurrying to muffle it behind their hands. 

"Whatcha doin' here, princess?" Spot says levelly, not rising to the bait. "Thought I told ya, you ain't my type."

"I know I have no right, but I need your help," Katherine says, not shirking under the captain's glare. "If your offer is still on the table, I could use a ride. At the very least, my friend could use your protection." At this, she gestures to the boy behind her; he shrinks in on himself slightly at the attention, wringing his hands together, and Jack feels something twist in his stomach when he sees thick metal cuffs around his wrists. 

Spot considers her for a long moment, his expression giving nothing away, and then he lets out a huff. "I don't got time fa' this," he mutters irritably, then raises his voice. "Whatcha all standin' 'round for? Thought I told ya, I wanna be skyward by dark. Move it!"

* * *

It isn't until the Brooklyn is airborne that David makes it back to the deck; Les snagged a hold of his hand while Dutchy was setting the boy's wrist and Davey couldn't bring himself to shake him off until after the boy finally nodded off during the ascent. Even then, the star lingered in the bunk room until Finch slipped in, exhausted from the take-off, and agreed that he'd keep an eye on the kid and the still unconscious Asian boy opposite.

There's a strange energy humming through the crew, a sort of nervous anticipation as the boys go about their normal tasks. It makes Davey, already unsettled by the day's events, even more fidgety. At the moment, he really only has one concern and it doesn't take him long to pick out the familiar profile through the lingering crowd.

"Jack." The human turns immediately and the furrow in his brow unknits slightly when his gaze lands on David. On the other hand, Davey's eyes widen in horror and he half-jogs across the deck. "Skies, your neck," the star breathes, reaching out without thinking about it. The open collar of Jack's shirt reveals a line of green-violet bruising forming across his throat and Davey brushes his fingers over it tentatively.

"It's nothin'," Jack says, his voice only slightly hoarse. He swallows, licking his lips, and David immediately drops his hand in realization. "Just a bruise. Had way worse."

"Somehow that isn't actually reassuring," Davey replies but he feels the knot in his chest loosen.

"Ah, didn't know ya cared," Jack teases, grinning. David hates the involuntary leap of his heart as the comment strays far too close to the truth. "Youse okay?"

"Fine," Davey says, only slightly bitter. "I wasn't even involved, remember?"

Jack frowns, nudging his arm. "Hey, ya did good," he says. "Even Spot says so. You saved my butt, stopped that fella from stompin' me. And you got Les outta there. How's he doin'?"

"He's going to be fine," David says and a small, relieved smile dashes across Jack's face. "Dutchy doesn't think his wrist is broken, probably just a sprain, so he should be back to normal in a few days. Said the hardest part will be getting him to sit still long enough to heal."

"And the other kid?" Jack presses.

"Him too," the star says. "They got him to wake up for a bit; he was pretty out of it but they don't think it's anything to worry about. Dutch said he was going to wake him up again before turning in, just to check, but a broken nose is probably the worst of it." Davey frowns and shrugs uncertainly. "I guess they were lucky, all things considered."

Jack's smile flickers and David sees some of that spark from the afternoon resurge in his gaze. "Nothing lucky about kids gettin' stomped in the streets."

Davey is spared coming up with a response to that by Spot shouting for everyone's attention. The captain steps up onto the stairs where the crew can see him and an instinctive hush falls over the crowd, the boys looking up at him expectantly. "Alright, gonna make this quick, but ya gotta know," Spot says, jaw set. "Some ya mighta heard when we was there, but Pulitzer's put down new laws bannin' folks from tradin' with Fey." 

An agitated murmur rolls through the crew, boys asking their neighbors if they knew. Spot lets it go for a moment before he raises his voice again. "I know, ain't the first time he said stuff like that, but this time folks is listenin'. We ain't gonna be able to sell in Tryb no more, our only buyer backed out. Chances are he ain't gonna be the last one to pull out on us neither." 

"The hell's we s'pose to do?" Albert asks and several others echo his outrage. 

"For now, we's gonna keep doin' what we know," says Spot, decisively. "Always been a shady business, sure there's gonna be folks who don't care 'bout the rules and'll keep buyin'. But ya needed to know, 'specially since we headin' toward Jerna. Hearst's people's likely to give us more trouble 'an any othas." 

"And what do we do if we lose all our sells?" Specs asks, level and somber. 

Spot shrugs and pulls his folded arms tighter against his chest. "We'll deal with that when it happens," he says. A tense hush falls over the boys, the weight of the moment dragging down on them all. Then Spot clears his throat. "'Til then, tighten youse belts. Things might get worse 'fore they get betta, but we's Brooklyn boys. We ain't givin' up so easy." He glances over them, the crew shuffling uneasily, and says, "Right?"

"Right," a few echo, half-heartedly. 

"I said," Spot repeats louder, "that we's Brooklyn, and we ain't givin' up.  _ Right _ ?"

This time, the rest of the crew shouts it back, some of them punching fists into the air. "Right!"

"Damn right," Spot says vehemently. "Now get ya lazy asses back ta' work." He flaps a hand, dismissing them all, and turns to head up to the helm. 

David leans a half-step closer to Jack as the crew starts spreading out, heading either to their posts or for the stairs down to the hull. "Hey Specs," Jack says, and the pirate - who has made as little motion toward bed as they have - lifts an eyebrow. "Who's this Hearst?"

Specs' nose wrinkles in distaste. "He's the lord o' Jerna district," he explains. "On'y one of 'em that hates Fey 'bout as much as the king does. It's always been a bit risky goin' into his area, but it's also the next biggest market so we can't really 'fford to skip it."

"But we should 'spect trouble?" Jack guesses wryly. 

"Definitely," Specs says. "Always do." He sighs and pulls his glasses off, cleaning the lenses on the hem of his shirt. "Dunno what we're gonna do if folks stop trading with us, ain't like we can go find otha jobs. Might fin'ly be time to leave Stormhold then." He huffs a laugh without any real humor in it. "Hey, maybe we'll all follow you over the Wall, give your world a shot, huh?" 

Jack and Davey exchange startled looks, neither of them completely sure how to respond to something like that, but Specs doesn't seem to expect an answer. He replaces his glasses and nods toward the stairs. "Anyway, I'mma turn in." 

"G'night," Jack offers distractedly and the pirate gives them a smile in return before he goes below deck. David and Jack are on duty for the night, their turn to monitor the deck so the others can sleep, and they start walking in a lazy loop to check that everything is secured. Neither of them speaks again until they've finished their first circuit.

"Did ya see?" Jack asks, pausing at the bow. He leans against the railing, staring out over the thin feathers of cloud in the violet sky ahead of them. "Katherine's back, I mean," he adds at Davey's silence. 

"Oh, yeah," the star says, taking a spot next to him. It had been a surprise to find Lady Katherine on the deck when he'd brought Les back to the ship, but he hadn't gotten the chance to talk to her. The injured kid hanging off his arm had taken priority in the moment. "She still onboard?"

"Yeah, Spot sent her and that new kid into his cabin," Jack says. "Guess she was lookin' for a ride. Dunno what she's up to, but I got a feelin' it's somethin' to do with this stuff about the Fey. The boys not bein' able to sell and them fellas attackin' Les." He frowns, and the sudden pensiveness in his expression makes him look much older. "There's somethin' more going on here we don't know 'bout." 

David tips his head back and lets himself enjoy the cold night air on his face, a comfort that counters his racing thoughts. Part of him wants to separate himself from this mess, dismiss all of the chaos of this world because this isn't his home. There's a larger part of him, though - one that thinks of the way Les clung to his hand earlier, the way Race throws a casual arm around his shoulders when he jokes, or the way Spot offers the faintest shadow of a smile he's too tough to admit to - that knows he's already in too far.

Whatever is going on in Stormhold, he can't just pretend it doesn't matter to him anymore. 

* * *

Jack makes his way back up onto the deck after only a few hours of fitful sleep, driven by the need to be doing something. The midday sun is a striking contrast to the bracing wind, grounding him in the moment. It doesn't seem possible, but in only a week, the open expanses of sky around the Brooklyn have become a comforting familiarity, like the view from his favorite fire escape landings but a million times better. The freedom of it eases some of the tension his restless thoughts have caused at the base of his skull.

Slipping easily through the patterns of crew members, Jack finds a spot against the edge of the staircase that leads up to the quarterdeck where he's out of the way. He sits down and pulls his bag into his lap, digging out his sketchbook and charcoals. It doesn't take long for him to lose himself in the pages, rough half-drawings forming below his hand before he moves on to the next image as whimsy takes him.

Still, for as much as sketching is usually an escape for him, today Jack can't get his thoughts to steady. He's been restless since yesterday, stewing all night in the blend of indignation and low-key fear that came from the fight with the bounty hunters. He has tried telling himself that everyone is fine and he shouldn't dwell, but it's hard to believe it when he can see Les on the other end of the deck, his arm hung in a sling as he follows Race around like a puppy.

The most unsettling thoughts have been brought on by Spot's speech the night before, however. Jack recognizes the stubborn determination in the captain's eyes, the look of a man who can tell the end is coming and has no intention of steering away from it. It adds an urgency and weight to the whole affair. Is it possible that the pirates will all be out of work soon? Will they really be left with fleeing their home as the only option to avoid slavery? Are they all just biding their time as long as they can before the ax drops?

"Whatcha doin'?" Jack startles, looking up over his shoulder. Spot is standing in the doorway to his cabin, glancing down at the sketchpad in Jack's lap curiously.  "That the Brooklyn?" he asks, intrigued.

"Yeah," Jack answers, his gaze flicking back to the paper. It's a vague drawing, some sections still nothing more than ghostly outlines, which gives the image of the ship wreathed in pillars of cloud an ethereal quality. "Was just doodlin', helps me think," he admits as he sharpens some of the details on the mast.

Spot hums. "Ain't half bad, for a gutta'snipe," he says. "A'most does my girl justice." Before Jack can be surprised by the unexpected compliment, the captain is talking again. "Seen Finch?" 

"Was up with Specs last I saw," Jack says, gesturing up toward the quarterdeck. 

"Good," Spot says, nodding. "Race should be down workin' on the engine. Go grab him for me?"

Jack's brow furrows, but he can tell it isn't really a question so he nods and closes his sketchbook. As Spot heads up to the quarterdeck, Jack goes back down into the hull and heads for the door at the end of the hall. Jack raps twice on the door before pushing it open halfway and leaning in. "Racer?" 

"Whaddya want?" comes the muffled response from somewhere behind the engine. 

"Spot wants ya for somethin'," Jack says. 

There's a thunk and Race curses, then his legs emerge as he wiggles out from underneath the engine. He tugs the bandana down off his face and pulls off his gloves, wiping at a smudge of grease on his cheek. "Right, I'mma comin'," Race says, dropping his things in a heap and standing. "Lady Kath's kid must be 'wake." 

Jack shoots him a questioning look as he falls into step with Race. "The kid that came with Lady Kath? He passed out last night soon's he sat down. Spot was waitin' 'til he woke up to see if he wants the bands off," Race says with a vague gesture to his wrists. 

"Why wouldn't he?" Jack asks, confused. 

Race grimaces. "'Cause gettin' 'em off ain't pretty." At Jack's frown, he continues, "They ain't just cuffs, they's jinxed. Warlocks put 'em on Fey kids to stop 'em bein' able to use magic. Hurts when ya try, this sorta burny 'lectric feelin'. Thing is, ya gotta use magic to get 'em off too."

"That's disgusting," Jack snarls, stomach churning. 

"Ain't neva said it wasn't," Race agrees and his expression is tight. They cross the deck to the captain's cabin and when no one stops him, Jack follows Race inside. Lady Katherine and the wiry boy she brought with her are sitting on the sofa, while Spot, Specs, and Finch are gathered near the desk. Race meets Spot's gaze and nods grimly. 

"Fellas, meet Skittery," the captain says. The kid on the sofa visibly flinches at the attention, gazing nervously at the pirates as they offer murmured greetings. "He's gonna join the crew. But first thin's first," and Spot crouches in front of the kid and nods toward his hands, "ya want them off?" 

Skittery's eyes widen so far they look like they might be in danger of falling out. He touches the metal band around one wrist delicately. "You can do that?" he asks, and the hope in his voice is fragile as glass. Jack's jaw locks and he's not the only one; Race is grinding his teeth and Finch's fists have gone white at the knuckles. 

"Yeah, kid, we can," Spot says, and even his voice has gone softer. Jack doesn't miss the way he touches his own wrists, which are covered by a pair of decorative leather bands. "It's gonna hurt, though. A lot. You still want it?" 

"Yes," Skittery says without hesitation. "Please." 

Spot nods and straightens up. "Right, c'mon then," the captain says, gesturing toward the rug. Skittery looks uncertain, but he slides down to the floor. "Princess, come cushion his head so he don't bash it. Cowboy, could use a hand, since youse here," Spot says, acknowledging him for the first time. "Gonna need to hold him down." 

Jack casts a startled look at the others; Katherine looks vaguely ill, while the pirates simply look grim. Swallowing, Jack kneels down next to Skittery, trying to offer the boy a reassuring smile. Spot directs Skittery to lay down on his back, his head pillowed on Katherine's lap, and the pirates settle down in a circle on one side of him. 

"We gotta use magic ta' get it off," the captain explains, pulling his belt off. "A lot of it. So it's gonna trigger that jinx hard." 

"Don't worry, we've gotten pretty good at doin' this," Specs adds reassuringly. "On'y takes a minute."

"Still," Spot continues, folding his belt in half and holding it out, "youse gonna wanna bite."

Somehow, this is the thing that Skittery doesn't bat an eye at, shoving the leather between his teeth and taking a deep breath through his nose. Spot nods to the others, and there's a long, tense second while all four boys close their eyes. The glows pick up one-by-one, skin on their hands tinged with pale colors that cast strange patterns of light across stressed faces. "Ready?" Spot asks, raising an eyebrow. Skittery nods. 

As soon as their fingers touch the band, a cascade of sparks flies off the metal. Skittery's scream cuts off as his entire body goes rigid, back bowed up off the floor, and Jack lunges forward to hold him down as he seizes. The pirates are silent and focused as they press their fingers into the metal, and Jack can see a brilliantly red line forming along it like a seam. Even though the tension in the room makes it feel infinitely longer, it's only a minute later when the band splits in two and clatters to the floor. 

"How ya doin', kid?" Spot asks, panting slightly. 

Skittery, who is slumped back against the floor, only nods. Katherine strokes the side of his face soothingly, her eyes moist. Jack and the pirates switch sides so they can get to the other hand. This time Spot doesn't ask; Skittery bucks up against Jack's hands, and his free hand jumps up to latch onto Jack's bicep hard enough he knows it'll bruise. He's getting paler as the sparks brighten, eyes rolling up until Jack's sure he's about to faint, and then finally the band falls free. 

"Easy there," Specs cautions as Skittery sits up despite the full-body shudders. "See, told ya, on'y a minute." 

Skittery doesn't respond, holding his bared wrists in front of him. The skin is layered with knotty scars, currently flushed red and irritated, but he stares at them in wonder. "How long?" Spot asks somberly, picking up his belt from where Skittery dropped it.

"Since I can rememba," Skittery responds breathlessly. "Ain't ever not had 'em, I think." 

"In that case," Spot picks up the cracked bands, "ya wanna do the honors? Fellas us'lly chuck 'em overboard. Heard it's fun." 

Skittery glances at the iron before hesitantly taking them. The pirates help their new member to his feet and Jack trails behind as they leave the cabin. "Hey fellas," Spot calls. "Got a fella here ain't Bound no more. Whatcha think o' that?" 

Cheers and hollers go up across the deck. Skittery crosses to the railing and pauses, eyeing the bands for a moment. Then, with a deep breath, he hauls back and throws them off into the clouds. This prompts another wave of cheering and the first smile Jack's seen on him crosses Skittery's face. He's quickly surrounded by a group of eager boys, congratulating him and welcoming him to the crew. 

"I'm glad he's got them now." Katherine's voice makes Jack jump and he looks down at her curiously. Her eyes are a bit red at the edges. "He's a good kid. I wouldn't have made it here if it wasn't for him. He deserves a safe place like this." 

"They all deserve betta," Jack says stiffly. "This, all this stuff, it's worse 'an you said." 

"It's worse than I realized," she admits, voice softer. "I hadn't seen a lot of it firsthand, really. Not like this. I'd never seen - Gods, I'd never seen  _ that  _ before." She gestures back toward the cabin and Jack knows what she means. "I mean, I knew it was bad, but I never expected-" She trails off, pressing her knuckles to her lips and shaking her head. 

Jack's jaw locks. "Neitha did I, but that ain't changin' it's true."

* * *

For the first time in days, Davey actually feels like he got a full day's rest when he's woken by a commotion on deck. He stretches lazily and gets up, proud of himself for finally getting down the art of doing so without tipping the hammock over. Most of the bunk room is empty and David dresses before heading up onto the main deck. 

"Davey." Even as the star's heart jumps at the voice, he can feel an added weight to the tone that unsettles him. David turns and immediately picks out Jack, standing at the railing with Lady Katherine. The human boy looks exhausted and drawn, frown lines carving across his forehead despite the small smile he flashes. 

"What happened?" David asks curiously, looking around the deck. There's a large cluster of boys gathered further down the ship and he can tell they're the source of the noise that woke him. "I heard yelling." 

"The captain removed the bands from Skittery's wrists," Katherine explains when Jack doesn't respond. He notices for the first time that she is a bit flushed, her eyes red-rimmed like she's been crying despite the smile she offers. "The crew is celebrating." 

"Skittery?" Davey's eyebrows shoot up and he glances at the crowd again. Through a gap between two boys, he can see the skinny boy that came with Katherine; he looks pale and anxious, but he's smiling. "That's - good?" Davey guesses, raising an eyebrow in question. Katherine nods. "Good, that's good. I'm glad." 

"A'right, back to work," Spot bellows across the deck. "Them clouds look like we got a storm comin' and I want this ship ready." 

As the crew starts to spread out, heading back to their jobs, Specs emerges from the crowd. "Hey Davey, there ya are," he says. "C'mon, Cap'n wants us fixin' up these nets and youse good at knots."

Davey casts an anxious look at Jack, who smiles and nods despite the obvious tension coming off him in waves. When the star turns to where Specs and a few others are settling down in a circle around a pile of the smaller side nets, Jack follows without a word. "So, what're we doing?" David asks curiously.

Elmer flops inelegantly opposite Specs and pulls one of the nets into his lap. "Ya find any holes, ya fix 'em."

"Jackass," Specs mutters, laughing. "But yeah, that's 'bout it. Find spots where the ropes is broke and ya tie 'em back with these." He nods toward a crate beside him, filled with scraps of the strange copper-laced rope used on the ship. "Ya 'member the knot I taught ya for that?"

David nods and sits down, and Jack drops next to him. "Mind if I helps?" Jack asks even as he reaches for the nearest net. "I ain't best at knottin', but-"

"Can use all the hands we got," Specs cuts in, shrugging. "Gotta get all these done and back on by night, case that storm sneaks up." Davey can't completely stop the relieved exhale; he can tell there's something bothering Jack and wants to be able to keep an eye on him. 

"Hey, we ain't met official-like," says the boy on Elmer's other side and David's eyes widen when he finally takes a good look at him. Beneath a patchwork of colorful bruises across a swollen nose, the smaller Asian boy smiles. "Name's Romeo."

"Good to see ya up," Jack says, grinning. "Name's Jack, this here's Davey."

"I know, I hear I owe youse two a thanks," Romeo says. In his lap, he's tying knots into the netting without having to look, the movements clearly well-practiced. "Wasn't for you, I'd pro'lly be back in the Refuge a'ready."

Elmer snorts. "That's what ya get fa' takin' two mercs on ya'self. Ya neva been good at fightin'; even I can take ya."

Rolling his eyes, Romeo tosses a piece of torn rope at the other boy's head. "Shaddup. I know that. 'Sides, told ya, I saw them corner Les and I wasn't riskin' losing sight of 'em to go find back-up."

"That was brave of you," David offers, making the others look up in surprise. "Jumping in alone to protect him, I mean. I just – that had to have taken a lot of courage to go in knowing that risk."

Romeo shrugs nonchalantly, but there's a pleased pink to his ears. "S'what we do."

"Gotta look out for each otha," Jack says, nodding solemnly, "'cause ain't no one else gonna do it."

"Exactly," Romeo agrees and Elmer gives an enthusiastic nod. The Asian plucks at the net, fussing with a loose knot, and adds, "Anyway, couldn't live with m'self if the kid got carted to Refuge and I coulda stopped it. Least I's been there, know how to take it. But him?" His gaze darts across the deck; Les is bounding eagerly in Finch's wake as the first mate shows their new recruit around the ship. "Kid's too good for a place like the Refuge." 

"What is the Refuge?" David asks. "I just, I mean - I keep hearing that name, but I don't really know. It's - is it a prison or something?" 

Elmer and Romeo exchange startled looks, until Specs intones, "Davey and Jack ain't from here." 

"Ah, that makes sense now," Elmer says, nodding. "Thought there was somethin' off." 

"And yeah," Specs continues, "the Refuge is a prison for Fey kids. I mean, they don't call it that, say it's a rescue home or somethin' like that. But it's a place to put Fey kids to keep 'em in line 'til they get picked up by a warlock or put to work." 

"And that?" Jack asks, tone suddenly bitter, and points at Romeo's hands; the boy pauses in rubbing at the familiar rings of jagged scars on his wrists. It's a gesture Davey's seen plenty of times since boarding the Brooklyn, a seemingly unconscious tic shared by many of the boys whenever the Refuge is brought up. It didn't take much of a leap to guess the connection, even before seeing the iron bands on Skittery. "This Refuge, they put them cuffs on youse all like that kid Skittery got? The ones that hurt ya for usin' magic?"

Romeo shrugs. "Being Bound is the first thing they do when ya get to Refuge. Don't want a buncha Fey what can use magic ta' deal with." 

"Wait, that's what the bands are for?" David asks, acid roiling hot and thick in his stomach. "They're to stop you using magic?" 

"And hurts ya even more to get 'em off," Jack growls. When Davey looks over, the human's hands are curled into white-knuckled fists in his lap, a vein throbbing in his temple. "The hell kinda world is this? Folks just  _ let  _ that happen? Ya can't all be orphans. Don't some ya got folks to stop it?" 

"Was my folks turned me in," Romeo admits quietly, and Elmer immediately shuffles closer to his side. 

"Mine too," Specs says with a scoff. "Or, well, my ma anyway. Same for most the kids at the Refuge. Not that things is betta for the ones what got decent folks either. That's how ya get kids like Skittery." 

Davey frowns, glancing between the pirates for elaboration. "What do you mean?" 

Specs expression is somber when he meets David's gaze. "Skittery's an auction kid." Jack goes abruptly still at Davey's side. "See, havin' Unbound Fey is illegal. Folks get caught hidin' Fey kids, they's  _ lucky  _ if they just get arrested. More of'en they get killed or sold to be slaves, and then your kids woulda wished they gone to the Refuge. Those ones they sell ta' auctions, and the folks what buy at those, it ain't always for the magic." 

There's a wild rushing in his ears and Davey has to focus on his breathing to control the churning nausea in his stomach. Jack was right; this is so much more than they thought. 

At the same time, something triggers distantly in the back of the star's mind and he feels his eyes drawn sideways. Jack is a pillar of tension, his jaw locked and a wild light in his eyes as he stares into some middle-distance. Hadn't Jack told him that he'd once been up for sale before escaping over the Wall...?

"Jack?" Davey asks tentatively, but the human doesn't respond. "Jack?" It isn't until David sets a hand on Jack's forearm that he finally stirs, eyes sliding around slowly to focus on the star. "You okay?" 

"No." 

* * *

It's a sensation beyond anything he's ever felt in his life; something inside of him has snapped, like a dam has broken and there's nothing left to stop the tidal wave washing over him. The resulting maelstrom of emotions leaves him shaking, and Jack has to squeeze his eyes shut to hold it back.

This is so much worse than what he ever could have imagined. A cold, hard dagger of horror has sunk through Jack's chest, driving steadily deeper with each new secret he unearths about Stormhold, but it's this final piece of news that twists the blade. The kids sold at auction are there because their parents tried to protect them. Which means that Jack once had a mother or father who likely died trying to save him and his brother from slavery. 

And that turns his fear to anger faster than anything. 

These kids are being brought up in a world where their very existence is illegal, and their own parents are punished for trying to protect them. They grow up in shackles, hurt for using something that comes natural, and treated like property instead of people. Katherine was wrong; this world is so much more than broken.

"No. No, I ain't okay," Jack says, and his fists are clenched so tight he can feel the bite of his nails in his palms. He doesn't remember moving, but he's suddenly on his feet. There are more eyes on him now, more than just their little group around the nets, and Jack can feel the weight of their curiosity. "None o' this is  _ okay _ ." 

Jack's eyes cast out over the deck, over the ragtag mess of boys who have no other home, no real futures. No hope beyond surviving another day and staying free. These kids who are criminals just for being alive, who have been slaves, who have been turned on by their own families. Turned on by an entire world until their only choice is to run away and hide in the clouds where people can forget they exist. Good kids - his  _ friends _ \- who just want the opportunity to live their lives.

"Jack, what-?"

"It ain't right, nothin' in this place," Jack says vehemently. There is an energy buzzing under his skin, a warm, pulsing hum that makes him feel like he needs to be moving, like the rush of adrenaline that comes from a good chase. Like the flash of energy that comes with using his magic. "Folks bein' locked up and treated like slaves just 'cause they got magic. Oh, 'cept the ones with money, them's fine. Kids chased outta their homes or thrown in jail. Folks sellin' out their kids 'cause at least then they ain't dead. And all them otha people, just goin' on pretending it's fine. Well, it  _ ain't _ !" 

Davey stands, frowning at Jack uncertainly. "And what are we supposed to do about it? Overthrow a whole kingdom?" 

Head swimming with indignant rage, Jack flashes a dangerous smile. "That's exactly what I'm sayin'," he says. He glances around, seeing all of the other boys on deck watching him, and he raises a fist in the air. "You heard him, fellas, whaddya say we take back this world?"

There's an energetic burst of agreement and laughter from the pirates, clearly unsure whether he's being serious or not. David shakes his head. "That wasn't what I was saying."

"Why not?" Jack says. "This whole world depends on usin' our magic. They  _ need _ us. So I say we remind them that. Let them know that we ain't gonna sit back and let them keep treatin' us like this." 

"Us?" Davey echoes back, tone low so only Jack will hear. "What happened to Santa Fe? To going home?" 

"And ya will. But doncha think it'll be easier to find the sorta magic that can getcha home if we's got a buncha Fey with us?" Jack counters. "Think of it; all of the Fey in this world, all that magic free to use. That's gotta give us a better shot of gettin' you home."

Davey scoffs. "Because winning a revolution is easier than just finding somewhere to buy a Babylon candle." 

"These is our friends," Jack says. "Ya know it's the right thing to do." Davey's expression twists, a hasty flash of guilt, and he drops his gaze. Jack turns back to the pirates on deck, who are watching them expectantly. "This world has been tellin' ya, all your lives, that you ain't worth more than what they can use ya for. Well, I say we tell 'em the truth: we ain't gonna be slaves."

"Why you suddenly int'rested?" Everyone's gaze flicks to the voice; Spot is leaning against the door to his cabin, arms folded and eyes narrowed. "Ya ain't even from here, Jack. So why you suddenly care 'bout this place?"

Jack draws himself up. "I didn' grow up here but that wasn't 'cause I chose it," he says. "I'm Fey, born here just like the resta ya. Me an' my li'l brotha was up in one them auctions at the Wall, and on'y reason I didn't get sold was 'cause someone risked her life gettin' me outta there. My brotha, he  _ died  _ when we was escapin'. So doncha tell me I ain't got a say in this."

Something flickers over the captain's face but he hides it quickly, tipping his head and eyeing Jack thoughtfully. "So youse just gonna go out there and tell 'em you says no?" says Spot, raising an eyebrow in scorn. "Ya think no one's done that 'fore? They ain't gonna roll over just 'cause some punk says so." 

"No, not just one," Jack counters fiercely. "All of us. Ev'ry single Fey kid in Stormhold. If we all stand togetha, they can't keep ignorin' us." He turns back to the others, all of them wide-eyed and watching with bated breath. Jack steps up onto a crate so he can see better. "We did this same thin' on my side the Wall," he says. "There was folks there, slaves just 'cause of how they're born, until they fought back and told 'em no. Showed them they can't just be pushin' people 'round no more. That the ones who does the work get a say too. 

"So whaddya say? We ain't got a problem with workin' for our livin', but we do it as a free men. We get treated as equals. And until they agree ta' that, we give 'em hell!" The pirates cheer enthusiastically, and even Spot gives something that looks like a smile. Jack glances down at Davey; the star grins encouragingly, and the fire in Jack flares up again. 

"So the world tells us no? Well now it's  _ our  _ turn," Jack roars. "No more families gettin' tore apart. No more kids arrested. No more shackles and no more slavin'. We work for an honest share." Another cheer. "And if I gotta, I'mma walk right up to this Pulitzer and tell him so myself."

" _ We _ will," Davey says, stepping forward, and he echoes Jack's cavalier grin.

Katherine pushes off the rail, arms folded on her chest. "Jack, think of what you're saying," she says. "You're talking about just storming the gates and overthrowing the king. That's not how things work here."

"No, youse guys just wait for some magic rock to fix things," Jack retorts, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Ever figure maybe that's the problem? You say you gotta find this rock to make you worthy and make folks listen to you. Well, it ain't rocks or words that make ya worthy; it's what you do. So stop talkin' 'bout it and  _ do  _ somethin'."

"Do what, 'xactly?" Race says, standing at Spot's shoulder and spinning his customary cigar between his fingers. "I mean, what  _ can  _ we do? We's just a buncha kids."

"We start by spreading the word," Davey says. Jack grabs him by the elbow, hauling him up onto the crate beside him. "We can't do this on our own. We need to get the word out to every Fey kid in Stormhold. Let them know that your time has come. That this is when we fight back."

Another chorus of cheers, pirates jumping to their feet and shouting in triumph. Jack beams, his skin practically vibrating with energy. The adrenaline of being in front of a crowd makes him feel alive in a way he's never felt before, and for a moment he can see it; he can see the Fey of this world taking their rightful place, not above or below, but on the same level. Equal, in a way he never stood a chance of back in Manhattan.

"That's all well 'n' good," Spot shouts over the noise, which instinctively lowers, "but we still got a ship ta' run. That storm'll be on us soon 'nough. Back ta' work with the lotta ya."

The mood on the ship is buoyant as everyone returns to their jobs, boys laughing and shouting more easily than they have since leaving Tryb. Their little group finishes patching the nets quickly enough, cracking jokes and teasing each others' knot tying, before replacing them in their spots along the outer sides of the ship. Boys are constantly patting Jack on the back when they pass, and by the time he and Davey make it down to the bunks that night, Jack's cheeks hurt from smiling.

As Jack peels his shirt off, he catches the thoughtful frown on Davey's face. Jack reaches out and nudges him with his elbow. "Hey, you okay?"

"You're not going to Santa Fe anymore, are you?" David asks, eyeing him appraisingly.

"Course I am," Jack says. He tosses his shirt over the end post of his hammock and leans against it, watching the star. "I am. I just – I feel like this is somethin' I gotta do first. It ain't right, the way these kids is livin', and I on'y escaped that by chance. I coulda been just like any one o' them. Least I can do is help 'em make it betta." Even as Davey is nodding, Jack sees something flicker across his face. Jack frowns and lowers his voice to add, "Hey, I didn't mean to drag ya into this with me." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Davey says and his eyes brighten with determination. "I meant it, Jack, I'm with you on this."

"You sure?" Jack asks, but there's a warmth in his stomach. "'Cause youse still my first priority. I'm still gonna get you home, I swear it. If you don't wanna get messed up in this, I'll take ya 'cross to New York; Medda will keep you safe 'til I find somethin' to get ya home."  

David steps forward, stopping Jack with a hand on his arm. The contact burns white hot against his bare skin. "No, you were right," the star says firmly. "I've been thinking it for a while too. These are our friends. They're good kids and they deserve better. And not just for them, but for all the kids in this world who haven't had that chance. Kids like your brother." Jack's stomach lurches, and Davey's eyes soften. "So we're gonna do this, together, and if it means I wait a little longer to get home, I'll feel better when I get there knowing I did something good."

Jack smiles and he grips Davey's shoulder gratefully. When the moment stretches too long, Jack breaks away and flops into his hammock. "Ya know, should leave the speeches to you," he says, smirking. "You're betta with all the fancy words and such."

David laughs, and the hammock cords groan as the star climbs into his bed. "You're joking, right?" he says. "Did you see the way those kids lit up while you were talking? You gave them hope, Jack. Real, proper hope, probably for the first time in a long time." Jack feels heat building in his cheeks at the conviction in the star's voice, and he's grateful that his face is shielded by the edge of the hammock. "Besides, it means more coming from you." 

"Whatcha mean?" Jack asks, levering up on an elbow.

"Well, you're one of them," David says, shrugging, and there's something almost ashamed in his expression as he says it, eyes not quite meeting Jack's. He lowers his voice and says, "You know, you're actually a Fey." 

Jack frowns. "S'far as they know, so's you," he counters. "Ain't like it makes a diff'rence to them anyway. Youse one of 'em, just s'much as I am." He grins and finishes, "Ya even got a Knack, so youse one-up on me there." 

That finally pulls Davey's gaze up and he raises an eyebrow. "I don't have a Knack. I don't even have  _ magic _ ." 

"Course ya do, bein' what you are," Jack points out. "Maybe ain't the same kinda magic but it's somethin'. And your Knack, well, you got that glitter thing." 

"That  _ what  _ thing?" the star asks with an incredulous laugh. 

Jack shrugs. "That thing ya do when youse happy. Least I think that's what makes it happen. You kinda glow, a bit, this sorta shimmer thing in ya skin." 

David laughs even as his cheeks and ears pink. "Of course I do," he retorts. "I'm a-" He trails off, giving Jack a pointed look. "Shining is something we do." 

"Yeah, well, you was doin' it that night afta the last storm and somma the fellas noticed," Jack says, smirking. "So I told 'em it was ya Knack. Think Buttons was set on callin' ya Firefly 'fore ya got yammering about all them stories." 

Groaning, David flops back into the hammock dramatically. "That's really not any better than Walking Mouth." 

Jack can't fight the fit of giggles. It only gets worse when the star's hand escapes the hammock just long enough to imitate the rude hand gesture he's apparently picked up from the pirates at some point. It takes a full minute to calm his laughter before he swings a leg out to nudge Davey's hammock with his foot. "Hey, stop ya gripin'. It's a good thing. Means youse one of 'em, remember?" 

"Yeah, I know." Despite an attempt at sounding sulky, Jack can tell he's smiling. They lapse into quiet, both relaxing to the sound of the rest of the crew getting into bed. Finally, the still is broken by a plaintive, "Jacky?" 

The nickname, one Davey's only used once before, is so innocent and endearing it melts something in him. "Yeah, Davey?" 

"I - I think-" The star hesitates, and Jack lifts his head but can't see David behind the canvas. Davey clears his throat. "I think we're gonna do this. And that king? He should be scared." 

Jack chuckles, surprised. "Yeah, I think so too," he agrees. "Get some sleep if ya can. We gotta lotta work ahead us." But as Jack turns onto his side and closes his eyes, he can't shake the nagging feeling that that wasn't what Davey meant to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOS, send help! These boys have taken me hostage!
> 
> For real, though, can you believe that this story was originally only meant to be a oneshot? Now we're almost 50k words in and only about halfway through the plot... The section aboard the Brooklyn was only supposed to be one chapter, two at most, but these boys just don't want to let go. You would not believe the amount of pointless boy-bonding fluff and backstory-sharing that I've had to cut out of this to make it a reasonable length. 
> 
> On that note, I've been thinking about posting those cut pieces as a collection of drabbles. Would anyone actually be interested in reading that?


	5. The World Will Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for hanging in there. This section has been an ordeal and a half, but it's a huge driving part of the plot so I had to get it just right. Doesn't help that my ADD muse has become so obsessed with Newsies she's tried to start writing a half-dozen other Newsie AUs. She hopeless, I don't know what to do with her anymore.
> 
> To make up for it, I offer much angst, Newsie striking, and a not-so-subtle ship confirmation...

The storm comes and goes without much fanfare, more rain than lightning, and by the time they've reached clear skies again in the late afternoon, they've scraped up less than half their cargo hold. So it surprises everyone when Spot announces that they'll be landing to go into port first thing in the morning. "Got a tip we may have a new buyer in Quarterway," he explains to the curious crew. "It ain't a big market but we can't 'fford ta' be picky no more. So get thin's ready for a landin' 'fore ya turn in. Wanna touch down by first light." 

As the rest of the crew dissipates, heading back to their jobs, Spot catches David's attention and nods him over. Davey crosses the deck to meet the captain outside his cabin and raises an eyebrow questioningly. "Youse good at readin', right?" Spot asks. The star nods. "Good, then I gots a job for ya." 

The captain heads into his cabin without another word and David follows uncertainly. Inside, the lanterns have already been lit to combat the rising shadows of approaching evening. Lady Katherine is seated on the sofa and Race is sitting behind the desk, which is piled with books. Spot gestures toward the small library. "I's been collectin' books on magic for a while now, but I ain't too great at readin' and we don't have a lotta time." 

"Time for what?" asks the star. 

"If your boy's serious 'bout this strike thing, we're gonna have a lotta Fey kids needin' cuffs off," Spot says grimly. "Figure Jack told ya how that works?" David nods, swallowing hard; Jack had recounted the story after being woken from a nightmare, soaked in cold sweat and fighting not to be sick. It had been enough to chase away sleep from them both for the rest of the night. "So ya see why we gotta find a betta way ta' do it." 

"Hence the books," Davey concludes. 

Spot nods jerkily. "I ain't gonna put all them kids through that feelin', and my boys sure ain't gonna be able ta' do it over and over. Don't exactly feel great for us neitha. So I'm hopin' 'tween youse guys, you can find somethin' I missed that might get us a place ta' start." 

David hums thoughtfully, picking up a book from the desk at random. "I was thinking," he muses, "that if the pain is caused by using magic, is there some way to take them off without using magic?" 

"Sure, ya  _ can _ ," Spot says acerbically at the same time that Race chimes in with a vehement, "No." Davey and Katherine both glance between them, startled. "It's possible," Spot continues, ignoring Race's contemptuous huff, "but it sure ain't recommended." 

Race scoffs loudly. "Ain't that an unda'statement," he drawls and promptly bites down on the butt of his cigar so hard he has to spit out flaked off tobacco leaves. "Youse punks nearly took ya hand off." 

"Don't be dramatic," Spot chides with a roll of his eyes. All the same, he tugs loose the knots of the braided leather band on his right wrist and slides it off. The skin beneath is wrapped in overlapping scars, the pale chaffing of the cuffs all the boys have layered over with sharp gouge lines and streaks of glossy burn marks. A small, jagged bump protrudes from the outer side of his wrist like the bone is broken, or was at some point and wasn't set properly. Katherine's gasped oath perfectly sums up Davey's horror. "When we first got outta Refuge - me and Finch and Specs and Romeo - we was all Bound. Couldn't do magic ta' get 'em off 'til someone had theirs off first."

"So they has the bright idea ta' play blacksmith with his hands," Race interjects sarcastically. Spot shoots him a sharp look but the other boy doesn't seem cowed. "He use'ta be right-handed." 

"The boys healed it up best they could," Spot says unrepentantly as he expertly ties the knots to secure the band back into place. "An' it worked, that's all what mattered then. But ta' answer youse question, no, we ain't doin' that to get 'em off anyone else." 

"Skies, no, of course not," David agrees hastily. He sits down on the floor, propping his back against the desk and opening the book in his lap. "I'll see what I can find." 

"Good." Spot nods, the gesture decisive, but the star doesn't miss the quick flash of gratitude on his expression. The captain seems to deliberate for a moment then adds, "Hey Davey, what Jack was sayin' about bein' for auction? And his brotha? That truth?"

David frowns. "He wouldn't lie about something like that," he says defensively, thinking sadly of the faded watercolor painting tucked in with Jack's things. A suspicion takes root and the star glances up at the captain. "You don't think he's serious about all this, do you? About freeing the Fey?"

"Not really," confirms Spot. At Davey's indignant look, he continues, "Put it like this: he ain't the first fella I heard say he's gonna change things, and he sure ain't gonna be the last. And Jack, well, he gots more ta' lose than most. So I don't wanna see him stir up things and cheese it at first sign of trouba, 'cause then it's my boys left in the mess. Get me?" 

"I get you," Davey says, because he does understand that much. "But I'm telling you, you're wrong about Jack." 

"Maybe I am," the captain admits with a nod. "Hells, I kinda hope I am. But 'til I know fo'sure, I'mma do what I gotta to protect my crew." When the star nods, Spot's expression relaxes slightly. He gestures to the books with a vague, "Lemme know if ya find anythin'." Then he kicks at Race's foot, the pair having a quick, silent conversation of exchanged glances, before he shrugs his suspenders into place and slips back out onto the deck. 

"Stupid lunkhead," Race mutters under his breath, tone strangely fond as he turns a page in his book, and then the three of them lapse into quiet study.  

* * *

 

The port of Quarterway is a staggering difference from Tryb when the Brooklyn pulls up to the docks in the morning. Instead of the sprawling city, they find a cozy hamlet of wooden shops and houses dotted among farming fields. There are several docks, the largest for trade ships but the rest of them apparently devoted to smaller fishing vessels. 

Spot stops them all before they can start tying off the ship, whistling sharply to get everyone's attention. "This ain't gonna be like a normal stop," he says firmly. "We don't know if we's welcome here yet or not, so youse all stayin' on board 'less I gave you a job ta' do. No arguin'." 

Turning to face Jack, who isn't standing far off, the captain adds, "That includes you, Cowboy.  _ 'Specially  _ you. You wanna go tell them folks ta' stick it, be my guest, but you'd damned well betta wait 'til I got my business done first. I ain't gonna stop my boys from followin' ya into this mess if you go startin' it, but I still gotta make sure they got a place ta' come back to if it goes bad. Hear me?"

Even as he scowls, Jack nods; he might not like it, but he understands the captain's point. Still, he feels compelled to add, "Davey says you don't think I'll actually do it." Spot doesn't argue it, meeting Jack's gaze levelly. "You're wrong."  

"Yeah, he said the same thing," Spot says thoughtfully. 

"Why'd ya have him up all night doin' that readin' if you don't think I'll do it?" Jack asks, frowning. 

Spot smirks. "Ain't kept these boys alive all this time by not preparin' for things," he says, shrugging. "Gotta be ready for anythin' this place can throw at us, it's how we stay alive. 'Sides, learnin' how ta' get cuffs off is gonna be helpful no matter what. And it paid off; he came up with betta ideas in one night than I found in months." He pauses, then adds, "For what it's worth, though, I want ta' believe ya. It's long past time someone does somethin'." With that, Spot claps Jack on a shoulder as he heads for his cabin.

Once the Brooklyn is docked at the small harbor, Spot and a half dozen others head into the town. The rest of them are left to their own devices on the ship. A large group settles down to some sort of card game, a couple more start a faux sword fight with wooden sticks. Jack wanders restlessly for a minute - Davey is asleep below deck after having been up until the early morning researching - before he spots another figure standing alone up on the quarterdeck. 

"Hey Romeo," Jack greets when he approaches the other boy. Romeo glances up and flashes a smile, and nods when Jack gestures questioningly at the rail beside him. Jack leans against the railing, joining him at peering out over the water. "You feelin' okay?" 

"Head's hurtin' a bit," Romeo says with a casual shrug. "Dutchy says it's gonna do that for a coupla days. Thought I'd get away from the rabble for a bit." He waves back over his shoulder toward the shouting boys on the main deck with a grin. "Ya mind me askin' something?" 

"Nah, go 'head," says Jack, looking over curiously. 

"I just - youse really from the otha side of Wall?" Romeo asks, raising an eyebrow. Jack nods, and Romeo exhales heavily. "Weird. 'Cause I coulda swore I metcha before. You feel familiar, ya know, but that don't make sense if I ain't metcha." 

Jack's brow furrows. "I -  _ what _ ?" 

"Hmm? Oh, right. My Knack," Romeo explains hurriedly. "I can sorta sense connections 'tween people. It's hard to explain, I just get these -  _ vibes  _ off people. And sometimes those vibes match to others. Ain't all kindsa connections, of course, just the important ones; family and partners, ya know, the folks ya love."

"That why they call you Romeo?" Jack asks, laughing. 

The shorter boy snorts in amusement, although it makes him wince and touch his broken nose tenderly. "Was Race came up with it," he says. "Found it in one his books. Can't really complain, though; mom named me Gilbert, so it ain't like Romeo's worse." 

Jack chuckles, pulling off his hat and scrubbing at his hair. "Yeah, I get that. Back home, orphanage called me Francis even though I told 'em I got a perfectly good name a'ready." Romeo grimaces sympathetically. "Your Knack sounds nifty, though. So is it just folks already in love, or can ya tell when they's gonna?" 

"It's how we found Race, ach'lly," Romeo admits with a grin. "Back when it was just the four of us - me and Spot and Specs and Finch - we got into this one town and then there in this tavern's this kid and I just  _ felt  _ it. Was like this sorta hum, like when you flick a string that's pulled tight, but unda my skin, ya know? Was first time I felt a match that strong." 

"Him and Spot?" asks Jack, raising an eyebrow. 

Romeo laughs, nodding. "Yeah, I told 'em they ain't subtle." 

"I just know what to look for," Jack says, shrugging. He had picked up on it pretty quickly, the way the two gravitated towards each other or how they tended to disappear at the same times. Of course, it had been a bit of a giveaway when he realized that in the entire time they'd been aboard the Brooklyn, Jack had never once seen Race sleep in the bunk room. "Seen folks back home do it a lot, the sneakin' off togetha and the sharin' looks." 

"They don't much sneak no more," Romeo says, smirking. "On'y reason they do at all is 'cause Spot's worried 'bout spies gettin' word out. Ya know, in case we got Scabs on board. Don't want the warlocks findin' out the ruthless Cap'n Conlon got a soft spot for that dopey buncha curls, puts 'em both at risk." 

Jack's brows draw together. "Ain't it illegal too?" 

That seems to surprise Romeo and he looks up, eyes wide. "Illegal? Nah. It ain't, ya know, normal or nothin', but there ain't laws 'bout it. 'Sides, we's all fugitives anyway; folks tend to have more issue with that than who Spot takes to bed." He chuckles, but it tapers off and he glances sideways at Jack. "Wait, so is it illegal on your side?"

When Jack nods, Romeo looks genuinely distressed by the news. "I mean, it don't stop folks," Jack says, fidgeting his hands distractedly. "They just gotta be secret 'bout it." 

"That's awful," says Romeo, shaking his head. "Ain't right, folks havin' to hide they's in love. How you and Davey handle that?" 

Jack flinches, elbow slipping off the rail so he slams forward against it. His heart is hammering in his ears when he regains his footing, rubbing the sore spot on his ribs, and he can't meet Romeo's eyes. "Davey and I are - We ain't a couple," he says so quickly he's almost tripping over his words. "Christ, we barely know each otha." 

"Oh? Oh!" Romeo's eyes have gone perfectly round and he glances away, looking uneasy. "Sorry, I shouldn'a said nothin'. S'just, youse two act like you knew each otha forever. I figured ya musta. I, uh, I won't say nothin' to no one, promise." 

"No, it's - it's nothin', don't worry 'bout it," Jack says, aiming for a dismissive gesture. He can feel his pulse in his fingertips and his mouth is suddenly dry. As much as he wants to disregard it as another innocent mistake, like Lady Katherine's assumption, Romeo's Knack makes him give the comment more weight. Is Romeo implying that he got one of his 'vibes' about them? 

No, it doesn't matter, because even if he did like Davey like that - which, okay, he's clever and funny and beautiful and fiercely stubborn and  _ damn it, stop! _ \- they couldn't do anything about it. Davey is a star, and Jack's promised to get him home. And Jack's going to Santa Fe once they finish all this. There's no point even considering something that just isn't possible.

"There's nothin' going on there," Jack says finally and even manages to sound like he believes his own words. 

"Of course not," Romeo agrees, too quickly to be convincing. Then he clears his throat pointedly and says, "So, you thought 'bout what you're gonna say in town? 'Bout the Fey and all?" Jack shakes his head, and then ends up spending the rest of the morning with Romeo trying to turn his impassioned but spur-of-the-moment ramblings into something intelligent and inspiring.

* * *

 

There is already a small crowd gathered when David elbows his way into the market square, still working on his shirt buttons. A quarter of the Brooklyn's crew is scattered throughout the residents, who are listening but pretending not to. Jack has climbed up to stand on the back of someone's half-empty wagon, already throwing himself into his speech.

"And this news is for all'a you, the ones who's actin' like there ain't nothin' wrong," Jack shouts over the crowd. "The ones thinkin' if ya ignore it, it ain't your problem. Well, it is. 'Cause how many you lost family 'cause these laws? How many friends? I betcha there's some."

Davey glances curiously out into the people, noting the averted gazes and shifting steps. "He's gettin' to 'em," says Romeo, appearing at Davey's elbow. "Dunno how he does it, but he's makin' folks ach'lly listen."

"Yeah, he's good at that," Davey agrees, smiling to himself.

"And the rest of ya," Jack continues. "Maybe youse escaped it so far. Maybe your family's been safe. But how long you think that'll last? Whatcha gonna do when you have a kid turns out Fey? Or grankid? Niece or nephew? 'Cause by then, nothin' you  _ can  _ do. Youse gonna watch your family get tore up, and wish you'd done something to stop it 'fore it happened to you."

Jack pauses, letting that sink in, and he casts his gaze across the square. When he spots the star, his eyes linger and there's the briefest flash of nerves. Davey smiles and nods encouragingly. Something sparks, the bright blue-white of fresh lightning, in Jack's eyes, and he seems to stand a few inches taller when he spins back to the crowd.

"There ain't no crime to bein' poor! The Fey with money, they get left alone. They get power and schoolin', and you let them rule over ya with no questions. But not us. Not us kids from normal families like yours. We work and slave for our day's pay, just like you. We're all born from farms and shops and docks, just like you. But since we ain't got money, we end up in chains. Tell me how that's fair? And how long you think 'fore they decide we ain't enough? How long 'til they come for you too?"

The villagers are no longer pretending not to listen, staring up at Jack raptly. A few look angry or uncertain, but most of them simply look awed. Davey feels his heart leap eagerly; they look like people ready to fight. There are murmurs rippling through the crowd, folks whispering to their neighbors about what they're hearing. Jack towers above them all, a beacon of righteousness and change, and even David feels like he's looking at the boy with a new hope.

Jack lifts his chin, grinning fiercely. "So you folks want a headline? Well here's the news. Extry, extry, read all 'bout it: the Fey strike officially starts today. We're done bein' treated like nothin'. And you let that king of yours, Pulitzer, you let him know that Jack Kelly ain't gonna rest until ev'ry Fey kid is outta chains. Ya hear that? We are gonna be free!"

A cheer goes up, all of the Brooklyn boys in the crowd pumping their fists in the air excitedly, and even a few of the residents look encouraged. Through the chaos, David sees a young girl with cuffs on her wrists gazing up at Jack with watery eyes. Romeo is beaming and he jostles Davey playfully, roping him in with his eagerness. It isn't until Jack is making to step down from the wagon that the first sounds of a fight break out, a stocky man shoving his way forward.

"Who do you think you are, kid?" the man snarls angrily.

Jack pauses, drawing himself up to his full height to face off with the man. "Told ya, didn't I? Name's Jack Kelly and I'm the fella that's gonna fix this damn place."

"No, you're some upstart Fey pirate that thinks he got rights to go messing up everybody else's lives," the man retorts, raising his voice. The noise of the crowd has died down, people craning to watch the confrontation. Davey instantly starts to weave his way towards the center and he isn't the only one; most of the Brooklyn crew are inching in, ready to back Jack up in case of a fight. 

"You think this is just about you?" the man says challengingly. "Well guess what? You ain't the only one got it rough. We all do. And you lot comin' in and stirring things up is just gonna make trouble for all us. And I ain't gonna pay the price for what you is causin'."

"Ain't askin' ya to," Jack says levelly. "But think on this, huh? Who's the one gonna make you pay? Who is Pulitzer gonna send in to deal with things when he hears what's goin' on? 'Cause I betcha it's gonna be a warlock. Someone with so much power and money that you don't stand a chance against 'em, right?" The man's jaw clenches, which is all the confirmation Jack needs. "So then when that warlock comes, you wanna face 'em alone or with a buncha Fey at your back?"

"We wouldn't need to face warlocks if you kids would just do what youse s'pose to," a second man shouts, shoving forward, a vein popping in his temple. There are a couple murmurs of agreement from within the gathered crowd. "You gonna put the rest the kingdom, every other kid and family in Stormhold, at risk? For what? Youse not wearin' chains. Never wore 'em in your life, judgin' by them wrists. So why don't you lot just get back on your ship and leave well 'nough alone?"

Jack's eyes go dark, something fiery and furious slipping over his features. "You ever seen what those cuffs do?" he asks. His gaze scans over the entire crowd again. "Any of you? You seen what happens to a Fey kid when they use magic in those things?" Several people shuffle, their eyes turning down. "That's right; it's  _ torture _ . No other word for it."

"You don't  _ have _ to use magic," the first man objects. "If you just do what you're s'posed to-"

"They put them things on  _ kids _ ," Jack snaps. "Li'l kids. Some the fellas on that ship, they had them things on long as they can remember." He points to a woman in the crowd, who has a toddler on her hip. "As young as that. Them kids can't  _ help _ it. You think it's right, kids that small bein' hurt like that? You tellin' me it's fine to torture a kid that small for somethin' they can't help? 'Cause if you are, me and you is gonna have a real problem."

The first man looks cowed, his gaze dropping to the ground. The second is still staring Jack down defiantly, but at that moment, he seems to notice the dozen Brooklyn kids who have made their way to the front of the crowd. They are all standing, waiting, watching the interaction for their signal. The man glances around at the crew and then, grudgingly, takes a step back.

Jack nods, and the crew all relaxes slightly. "We ain't askin' you to fight our fight," he says, directing this to the men. "You wanna stay outta it? Fine. That's on you. We're just askin' you to think about it. Really  _ think _ . If one'a these kids was yours, would you still be okay with things? 'Cause a fight is comin', one way or 'nother. So figure what side youse on." Jack waits, letting that settle in the air, before he nods and steps back. "C'mon boys, we got work to do."

With that, Jack turns on his heel and heads back toward the harbor. The Brooklyn crew all fall into line behind him, boys bouncing off each other and whooping with pent-up energy. Davey nudges his way to the front, his long legs an advantage for once, until he finally falls into step with Jack just as they reach the edge of the docks. "Jacky, that was-" The star trails off, unable to find words to properly describe it.

It doesn't seem that Jack needs words; he glances sideways and his smile is a little self-conscious. "Fo'sure?"

"For sure," David agrees. Beaming, Jack throws an arm around Davey's shoulders and laughs.

* * *

 

The deck is full of noise and movement that evening as the Brooklyn waits in the harbor, boys celebrating and horsing around with no other outlet for their energy. Jack is almost aching from the joy of it, his face sore from smiling and shoulders aching from so many boys grasping it. They've been lingering for nearly a full hour before Spot emerges, returning from town with Race and Finch at his side.

"Helluva speech, Cowboy," Spot says when he reaches the top of the gangplank, eyeing the other boy appraisingly. "Seems ya got folks talkin'. There's a lotta buzz in town right now."

"That where you were?" Jack asks curiously. "Eavesdroppin'?"

Race snorts. "Had to get an idea what folks were sayin' somehow," he points out, gesturing with his cigar. "See if anyone was takin' ya for real or not."

"And?" Davey asks hopefully.

"Not bad so far," Spot says, nodding. "Good number went on their way, pro'lly ain't gonna think on it much. But there were lots still hangin' round, talking. So if that was the goal, you done it." A blazing thrill of energy shoots through Jack, that warm hum beneath his skin again, and he squeezes the arm still slung over Davey's shoulders excitedly. The star elbows him back, grinning. "This's just one small town, though," Spot says pointedly. "What's your plan for tellin' the rest the kingdom?"

"We're gonna do that, ach'lly." Jack's head swivels around in surprise as Albert steps forward, smirking and folding his arms over his chest. Several other boys come to stand with him, all of them grinning but determined. "A buncha the fellas, we been talking," Albert continues. "Figure the best way to spread the word is to send fellas out to do it. So that's what we're gonna do."

"That so?" Spot asks, raising an eyebrow. He casts a quick glance at Jack, who shakes his head.

"Don't look at me, I don't know nothin' 'bout this," Jack says.

"This's our idea," Mush interjects, nodding. "'Cause see, we know Pulitzer is gonna come down hard soon's he hears 'bout this. We ain't got lots of time to wait. So fastest way to spread the word is to do it ourselves."

Albert bumps his shoulder, humming an agreement. "See, figure we send a couple fellas each direction, we can get to all the big towns in three, four days maybe," he says. "Less if we can hitch rides and stuff."

"And you idiots think folks are gonna leave ya 'lone when they hear what you're sayin'?" Spot asks, scoffing. "Think you ain't gonna get warlocks and Bulls comin' after ya? Nearly had a scuffle in town, and this was a small place and a whole buncha us. You think youse gonna have that same luck on your own."

"We're not going alone," Blink counters. "Ship's rules: no one goes out alone. We stick to pairs, always got someone watchin' our backs."

Spot stares down the boys but none of them back down, their chins lifted defiantly. It's Finch who finally breaks the standstill. "I think they gotcha, Cap'n," he says, plunging his hands into his pockets. "Sounds like they got it all planned out. Don't think youse gonna be able to talk 'em outta it."

"Not tryin' to," Spot replies. "Just makin' sure you know what youse gettin' into."

"We do," Albert says, uncharacteristically somber in the moment. "But we're gonna do it anyway."

"Okay, but what I'm wonderin'," Race interrupts loudly, surveying the crowd with his brow furrowed, "is what we gonna do afta. I mean, so you go spread the word, tell ev'ryone what we're doin', but then what? Words is words, ya know? But that ain't gonna make Pulitzer just give up."

A second silence falls over the deck, boys muttering between each other, until David abruptly steps out from under Jack's arm. "A rally," the star says, drawing everyone's attention. "Race's right; a bunch of kids spread out all over isn't going to really scare anyone. But we get everyone together, and that's a different story. So we gather all the Fey kids we can into one place and show this kingdom that we're a real force to be reckoned with. An army of kids that have each other's backs and are ready to fight."

"They won't know what way is up," Jack tacks on enthusiastically, the buzz of before surging forward again.

"The market at Wall." It's Katherine this time, shouldering passed boys to get to where she can be seen. There's that set to her features again, the one Jack remembers from the first night they met. "It's a big city, plenty of attention, and it's the closest city to Stormhold Keep," she continues. She meets Jack's gaze and nods, smiling deviously. "If you're looking to show Pulitzer what he's up against, that's the best place to do it."

"So that's what we do," Davey says eagerly, nodding to her. "We spread the word to the Fey, not just that we're going to strike but that we're gathering. We get every kid we can to go to the market at Wall and we face Pulitzer together. Even if we gotta march right up to his front door." A roar of enthusiastic agreement goes up from the crew. When Jack meets David's eyes, he can see the same fire from his gut burning in the star's gaze. Jack grins, his heart leaping, and Davey returns it.

"Ten days," Jack announces resolutely. "You guys think you can get the word out and get to Wall by then? Good, then that's what we do. Ten days from now, the Fey of Stormhold are gonna rally in Wall."

* * *

When the Brooklyn gets skybound again that evening, just in time to prepare for the next oncoming storm, they've lost nearly half of their crew. The goodbyes were difficult, despite the energy of rebellion that was buoying them all. It surprises Jack once again to realize just how attached he's gotten to these boys in so short a time, when he's spent most of his life pointedly avoiding those sort of attachments. There's a pit in the bottom of his stomach at the thought that some of them might get into trouble, might get hurt. That's there's a chance, slim as it may be, that he might never see some of them again...

The storm does a good job of keeping them all busy and distracted, scrambling to pick up the slack from their missing crew members. Jack spends the entire time running from one job to another, doing both his usual post and helping Finch with his, since the first mate is still exhausted from the take-off but refusing to be sidelined. As much as Jack's started to love the thrill of lightning netting, he's sort of grateful when they reach the far edge of the storm clouds.

"That never gets less crazy," Davey says when Jack joins him in tying the side nets back into place. "Humans. You're all insane."

Jack laughs, jabbing the star with an elbow. "Ah, c'mon, don't act like ya don't love it." Davey shrugs but doesn't deny it. "Honest, though, I could get used to this. S'fun. Lots more than any job I had back home, fo'sure. Way harder without all the fellas though."

"You think this is bad," Spot chimes in as he passes, raising his voice over the sound of the still pouring rain, "shoulda been here in the beginnin'. On'y had six of us, first few trips."

"How did you not get yourselves killed?" David asks, awed.

Spot snorts. "Dumb luck." The captain tugs his goggles down around his neck, rubbing at his eyes with the damp leather of his gloves. "When we're done, Cowboy, I wanna see you in my cabin. Got it?"

"Be there in a sec," Jack agrees, tossing in a flippant salute for good measure. Spot rolls his eyes and heads across the deck without another word. Jack watches him go, tying the knots without looking after so much practice. "Wonder what he wants," he muses curiously once the captain's out of earshot.

"I don't know," Davey replies, hauling back on the net to pull it up into place. Jack hurries to lean in and tie the knots, knowing that the star won't be able to hold them up on his own for long. He nods once he's finished and David relaxes his grip with a grateful smile. "There's something up with him, though," the star adds thoughtfully. "He's been acting strange the last few days."

"Whatcha mean?" asks Jack.

David chews on his bottom lip, brow furrowed as he fixes one of Jack's knots, and shakes his head. "I don't know, there's just  _ something _ ." He shrugs, stepping back from the ropes. "Or maybe I'm just imagining things," he admits ruefully. "It's not like we really know him all that well."

They help the crew finish putting away the nets and check that the cargo is secured before finally heading to the captain's cabin. Jack raps twice on the door before letting himself in, Davey following behind him. The cabin is lit, lanterns burning against each wall, and far more crowded than Jack expected. Spot is sitting at his desk, with Race leaning against the front of it. Specs and Romeo are talking on one side of the room, while Finch is slumped, half-conscious, on the far end of the sofa. The whole place goes oddly quiet when Jack closes the door behind them. 

"What's goin' on, fellas?" Jack asks curiously, shrugging off his raincoat and hooking it onto the rack by the door.

"Got something ta' talk with you 'bout," Spot says, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on the desk. "Thing is, it's gonna get personal. Now my boys are here 'cause they gonna know somma my side, but it's up ta' you if you want 'em ta' stay." And his gaze flicks pointedly over Jack's shoulder toward David at this, clearly adding him to the list.

"Anything you tell me, I'mma tell Davey," Jack says decisively. "Me and him's in this togetha." Spot nods and gestures toward the sofa before busying himself in one of his desk drawers.

"You sure, Jack?" David asks under his breath, touching Jack's elbow lightly.

"Si'down, wouldja?" Jack responds, nudging the star toward the open end of the sofa. "Ya look beat." Still, he smiles at David, nodding in thanks for his consideration. It's nice that Davey even bothers to ask, but honestly, Jack doesn't want to face down this weird meeting alone. He always feels braver with the star at his side. He waits for David to settle down on the sofa cushions, then drops down on the floor in front of him, propping his back against the star's leg.

"Suit ya'self," Spot says. "But say if ya change your mind." He comes out from behind his desk, clutching a bottle of amber liquid, and hops up to sit on the surface. Yanking the cork from the bottle, he takes a long swallow. 

"Thought that's a full cargo hold thing," says Jack, half-joking. "We on'y got 'bout half, didn't we?"

"This ain't storm drink," Spot says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He leans forward to pass the bottle down to Race, who is sitting on the floor near his ankles. "This's my stash, for when I need it. And I dunno 'bout the rest the fellas, but I know I'mma need it."

"I still don't even know what we's here for," Finch interjects, glancing around at the others questioningly. Specs and Romeo both shrug, shaking their heads. The first mate sits up to accept the bottle Race hands him, looking up at Spot. "But I never say no to a drink."

Spot scrubs his lower lip thoughtfully before his eyes settle on Jack. "Anyone ever tell ya why they call me Spot?"

Surprised by the non sequitur, Jack's brow furrows and he shakes his head. "Was told it ain't my business," he admits. He bites back an amused noise when Davey accepts the bottle from Finch only to immediately pass it along to Jack without taking a drink; apparently the hangover that followed his last experience with the captain's liquor has put the star off drinking.

"Good ta' know my boys listen on occasion," Spot says with a rueful smile. Race huffs indignantly, prompting Spot to kick him lightly in the shoulder. The captain pauses, his expression shifting once again into his typical bored indifference before he starts again. "It was this kid at the Refuge – we called him Crutchie, 'cause he had a bum gam – gave me the name Spot. Was a coupla years younger 'an me, 'bout four at the time, and thought he was funny. See, my Knack, I can tell when someone's a Fey. Can  _ feel  _ it, when I look at 'em."

"Can  _ spot  _ 'em from a mile away," Finch intones, grinning lazily. Specs muffles his laugh with the liquor bottle. "Kid thought that was the funniest joke ever."

Romeo abruptly gasps, his eyes flicking from Spot to Jack and back again. "Skies and stars," he breathes. "That's-"

"Romeo," Spot cuts in quietly, more of a question than a rebuke. The other boy trails off, looking up at the captain, and nods silently.

"And you kept the name?" Davey asks, voicing exactly what Jack is thinking but wasn't sure how to say. "That's surprisingly sentimental."

Spot's eyes flash for a second, a flicker of warning, before he pushes it away. "He was a good kid," he says. "We bunked togetha for years at the Refuge, me and Finch and Crutch. Stuck himself ta' me and I couldn't shake him. Didn't know what ta' make of him, in the start, 'cause the kid never stopped smilin'. It was weird. 'Specially for a kid that young, and with his leg, too. On'y time he ever cried was in his sleep."

"He was always makin' people feel better," Specs adds, smiling despite his somber tone. "'Specially the li'l kids. Good at making 'em smile and givin' 'em hope. And he took care of folks. Never woulda thought he was younger, way he was always lookin' out for ev'ryone else."   
  
"Me and Crutchie, we always talked 'bout escapin' and runnin' away," Spot says and takes another long drink of the liquor. He hisses through his teeth at the burn. "Were gonna get outta Stormhold, find some otha world and make our own way. One day, some Scab overhears me makin' plans for breakin' out and takes it ta' the Bulls."

"Scab?" Davey interrupts, confused. "And Bulls? I've heard those before, but..." 

"Bulls is the king's guards," Race supplies. "And Scabs is Fey traitors. Make deals with warlocks, keeps 'em outta cuffs if they turn in their own kind." 

Jack hums in comprehension, remembering where he's heard the term before. "You called us that, the first day," he says after a quick glance around the room confirms that everyone in there is in on the secret. "When you pretended to kill us, you said it was 'cause we were Scabs." 

Finch nods, baring his teeth angrily. "Gotten a few of 'em, since we got the ship. Dirty traitors. They come onboard, work with us a bit, then take what they know to the warlocks. They're the reason we put on the whole show, to make 'em think twice 'bout turning on us." 

"Don't always work, but it's somethin'," Spot says. "Anyway, Scab turns me in and the Bulls stomped me good. Couldn't get outta bed for days, and Crutchie never left my side the whole damn time. And when I got better, I was all-fired, ready ta' go soak that Scab for rattin', but Crutch stopped me. Said nothin' good came from us fightin' each otha. And he made me promise, we ever got outta there, I wouldn't hurt no one 'less I gots no other choice."

There's a drawn out silence after Spot finishes, all of them caught up in their own thoughts. David breaks it by clearing his throat softly and he contemplates the liquor bottle that's been passed to him for a second. "Is he – I mean, just the way you're talking-"

"He didn't die," Spot says, voice strangely resolute. "Least not I know of. Gods, I hope not." He stops and clears his throat. "No, see, we'd made a plan for gettin' outta the Refuge, all five of us."

"Five?" Davey asks, eyes panning over them and clearly counting their numbers.

"Not me," Race says, fidgeting with his cigar. "I wasn't at Refuge. They found me later."

Spot swallows, scowling. "We were all set ta' go, then last minute, Crutchie bails. Says with his leg, there's no way he's gonna keep up, and he ain't gonna be the reason we don't make it. Stubborn ass kid wouldn't listen. I tried ta' stop him but once his mind's made up…" Spot shakes his head. "He made a distraction 'stead."

"Pro'lly the only reason we made it," Finch says solemnly.

"We went back for him," Spot finishes. "Soon's we could. Once we'd got our cuffs off and was healed up. 'Cept he was gone. Rumor's that he got picked up by one'a the king's goons but no one knew fo'sure who. I been keepin' an ear out but I ain't been able ta' find him. The sorta folks that got connections ta' the king's guys won't talk ta' pirates."

This time David takes a drink, coughing slightly, before handing the bottle down to Jack. Even after Jack takes the bottle, Davey's wrists stay resting casually on Jack's shoulders, a comforting weight. "But you still think he's out there?" the star asks as Jack takes a drink.

Several of the boys nod, and Spot says, "I gotta. I was s'posed ta' keep an eye on him. I gotta think he's okay."

Jack leans out to hand the bottle to Romeo, who is watching him with wide eyes. When Romeo sees him looking, he hurriedly flicks his gaze down. Jack frowns in confusion but lets it slide for the moment, turning his attention back to the captain. "Not that this ain't – I mean, I'm sorry 'bout your friend, but what's it gotta do with me?"

"A little bit 'cause I wanna make sure ya know I mean it when I say I put my boys first," Spot says firmly. "S'why I been holdin' off on youse whole rebel thing, 'cause I don't wanna lose anotha like I lost Crutch. Hear me?" Jack nods and he feels Davey squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. The captain exhales heavily and waits until the bottle comes back to him before he continues. "But mostly I'm tellin' ya 'cause there's this story Crutchie use'ta tell, 'bout how he got ta' Refuge."

This time it's Finch whose eyes snap open wide, suddenly fully awake, and he turns to look at the captain. " _ Oh! _ "

Spot nods. "Yeah, see, I didn' think much about it 'cause he was little," he says, gaze locked on Jack. An ominous thrill races down Jack's spine, a crushing sort of anticipation he can't explain, that is only softened by the comforting cool of the star's presence at his back. "Li'l kids tell all kindsa stories, ya know? But Crutch, he always said he was one'a them auction kids, up at Wall. Him and his big brotha."

Specs and Davey both breathe out curses at the same time, but the words feel oddly distant to Jack, who can barely hear anything passed the blood rushing in his ears. The pieces are all there, lining up and just waiting for him to click them into place. He can feel it, knows somehow exactly where Spot is heading with this, but he can't bring himself to do it. Shock or denial or fear, whatever it is.

"There was a girl, dark like Specs, that's how Crutch always described her," Spot continues deliberately. "She tried ta' save him and his brotha, was making a break for the Wall. On'y Crutchie got nabbed by a hex; s'what gave him that bum leg. But he always said his brotha made it, and one day his brotha was gonna come back for him."

"Jacky?" David's voice is soft, but his hands are firm as they grip his shoulders. It's only now that Jack realizes he's almost hyperventilating, his breaths snapping in and out of his lungs like bullets. His head is reeling and he clings to the first stable thing he can find, which just so happens to be Davey's knee.

"I never thought nothin' 'bout it," Spot finishes grimly. "Always figured it was just somethin' the kid told himself ta' cope, ya know? 'Til the otha day, when you said-"

"No." Jack can feel himself shaking, but he also feels strangely separate from his body. His head is full of a roaring noise. "No, you-"

"It's why I thought I had metcha before," Romeo says quietly, not able to meet Jack's gaze. "'Cause I recognized ya vibe from Crutchie. 'Cause youse family."

"M'sorry," Spot says and he genuinely sounds it. "I didn't wanna say nothin' 'til I knew fo'sure, but ya deserved ta' know."

Jack shakes his head, fighting back the wave of nausea. "I -  _ Jesus _ !" He shoves up to his feet, staggering slightly, and his panicked gaze darts over the row of concerned looks before he backs toward the door. "I can't-" And, turning on his heel, Jack bolts out of the cabin.

It's still raining outside, not the torrential downpour of the storm but a steady rhythm of droplets that has formed puddles and streams along the deck of the ship. He only makes it a dozen steps out onto the deck before he can't move anymore, vision swimming, and the truth finally slots into place in his head with a definitive click. _His brother._ Jack needs air, is gasping to breathe around the boulder suddenly sitting inside his ribcage, and he only gets two lungfuls before he breaks. It starts as a shout, furious and guilty and desperate, but by the end, it cracks into a half-sob.

The hand on his back startles him and Jack flinches away, blinking away the rain in his eyes to make out the familiar face. Davey is watching him with a hand extended, his own clothes already soaked through and fringe clinging to his forehead. The star takes Jack's wrist and leads him under the shelter of the stairs to the quarterdeck, where they are mostly protected from the rain. 

Jack drops to the floor, leaning his back against the wall and glaring up at the underside of the stairs like they should have answers. A second later, Davey kneels down in front of him, a gentle touch on his forearm offering support. "Jack, talk to me."

"Christ, Davey, he's alive," Jack exclaims, his voice breaking at the surge of emotion in his throat. "My brotha survived and he's been waitin' all this time for me to come back for him and I neva did."

"You didn't know," Davey says, but Jack isn't listening.

"He could be dead now for all I know," Jack says. "He coulda died in that Refuge place, and that's on me. Or what if he's still out there somewhere? One of them slaves for some warlock, in those  _ chains _ , havin' his magic pulled out from under his skin and sufferin' and waitin' for someone to come save him? Christ, I can't believe - Medda thought he died, I just  _ assumed _ -" He feels a knot in his throat and swallows around it. "I shoulda used the candle for that. Stupid and selfish, tryna go to Santa Fe. I shoulda looked for him but I never even thought. I shoulda checked, just to know."

David stops him by taking Jack's face in his hands, tipping it up so Jack is forced to meet the star's impossibly blue eyes. "You didn't  _ know _ , Jack," he repeats. "There's no way you could've known." Jack opens his mouth to interrupt but Davey talks over him. "But now you do. There was nothing you could do before, but now you  _ can _ ."

"How?" Jack asks, and he cringes at how helpless his voice sounds. "You heard Spot, they ain't caught wind of him in years. He could be anywhere, if he's even still 'live."

"I'll help you," David says firmly. He's got that look in his eye again, that fiery determination that says he's already made up his mind and nothing will change it. "This strike and the rally, with so many Fey kids in one place, one of them's gonna have to know where to find your brother. Or hey, if we manage to get ahold of another Babylon candle, we can use the first half to find your brother. We're gonna do this, Jack, I promise. We'll find him." 

And then Davey surprises the hell out of him by spitting into his palm and holding his hand between them. "Deal?"

Jack feels too wrung out to understand what's happening, but the pain and panic in his chest are being smoothed over by something impossibly warm. Meeting the star's gaze, Jack smiles weakly and spits in his hand. "Deal."

* * *

 

David wanders up onto the deck first thing in the morning, taking a deep breath of the frigid pre-dawn air. It was a long, sleepless night and he stretches wearily. There's only one other figure on deck so early and Davey heads up to the helm, where Race is leaning lazily against the wheel and smoking. "I was starting to think that thing was only for show," the star teases, nodding to the cigar.

Race snorts and blows a stream of smoke through his nose. "Nah, Spot's just picky 'bout when I can smoke 'em," he says. "He hates the smell. And I don't smoke 'em 'round the younger kids, so I us'lly only do when I'm on patrols alone." Taking another draw, he offers the cigar toward Davey, but the star shakes his head. "Needed it afta yesterday," Race adds with a frown, wedging the cigar between his lips again. "How's Jack?"

"He's–" David pauses, trying to find the right way to phrase it. Once the star had gotten him to calm down, they disappeared down to the bunk room, where the rest of the crew had left them alone. Jack had been up half the night talking aimlessly to distract himself, and the few times he'd nodded off, he'd woken up shortly after in a panic. It was nearly morning by the time Jack was finally exhausted enough to fall asleep and stay. "He's struggling," Davey finally settles on. "It was a shock."

"No kiddin'," Race agrees. "I never met him, but I've heard 'bout it from the fellas. Spot's talked 'bout Crutchie ta' me a coupla times when he had a drink. Blames himself, ya know? He don't get worked up much, but that'll do it ev'ry time." He tilts his head back to let out a mouthful of smoke. "Don't 'spect we'll see him 'til late today. He's gonna have a helluva hangover."

David thinks about the rings beneath Jack's red-rimmed eyes and privately hopes they don't see Jack until later too. He needs the sleep. "We're going to fix this," the star says solemnly.

"It's kinda funny, how good youse two is for each otha," Race says, smirking. "I don't much buy into that match stuff, but youse got it. It's like – both you are good guys on ya own, but together youse just  _ more _ , ya know?" He huffs, a small cloud of smoke curling off his lips. "I dunno, maybe that don't make sense."

The truth is, Davey knows exactly what he means. He's been feeling it for days, this sense that being around Jack makes him feel like he can be something more than he is normally. When he's on his own, he starts to get anxious, wondering if he's doing the right thing getting involved in this world's problems. Then, with one look from Jack, all of that fades away. He feels brave and valiant and  _ right _ . Like he's got a real purpose, for the first time in centuries.

Except he can't lose himself to it. Stars can't fall in love; that's one thing he was told over and over as a child. It's dangerous for stars to lose their hearts to anything, and especially to any _ one _ . David isn't naïve, and he knows that's exactly the road he's headed down now. If he's not careful, he's going to get himself killed. And it scares him how much he isn't scared by that anymore.

"We make a good team," Davey says neutrally. He's tired of denying it, tired of pretending he's not fond of the human. Maybe it's better a half-truth than a whole lie. "Sometimes, anyway," he amends with a grin. "At least once we stopped fighting each other instead." 

Race laughs. "Yeah, I get that," he says, nodding. "Me and Spotty's always been the same. Shout at each other as much as anythin' else." He pauses, his smile softening, as he distractedly flicks ash from his cigar. "Romeo said this thing ta' me once. I told him he had to be wrong 'bout us, 'cause we fight too much. And Romeo, he says when it comes ta' the big things, if they ain't worth fightin' over, they ain't worth havin' in the first place."

The star smiles, rolling that thought over in his head. It's strangely profound for its simplicity. "So, you and Spot," Davey probes curiously. "You're really-?"

"Dirty gossip," Race rebuts, chuckling. "Ain't youse business." There's no real venom in his tone to add any weight to the rebuke, and he continues after a second, "He's an ornery pain in the ass and I dunno why I put up with him. But he's the on'y one who'll still play cards with me, and he calls me out if I let him win. I figure that's gotta mean somethin', right?" He takes a deep drag on his cigar and blows it out before meeting Davey's gaze again. "But that's the last I'm sayin' 'bout it. I ain't gonna sit 'round and giggle 'bout my fella like some li'l girl."

"You mean you're not a little girl?" David asks, pulling on an expression of faux innocence. Race barks a laugh and lunges for him, managing to snag an arm around the star's shoulders and ruffle his hair. Davey yelps, wriggling out of his grip, and shoves the shorter boy back toward the helm. "Watch it, aren't you driving this thing?"

Race scoffs loudly and gestures at the almost completely clear sky ahead of them, dotted with only a few wispy traces of cloud. "You afraid I'm gonna crash us inta' somethin'?"

"With your driving..." Davey starts sarcastically. Race protests loudly and takes another swing at him. "Hey, keep it up and I'll go back to bed. Let you sit up here all alone."

"Promises, promises," Race counters dryly. David snorts, leaning back against the railing and folding his arms over his chest. "Ya know, we oughta teach ya how to fight a bit betta. I mean, if we're gonna go start a war, you oughta be able to protect yourself better than just shoving folks like a li'l kid. Les can pro'lly take you."

Davey imitates the rude hand gesture he picked up from Race, but he considers the thought. It's probably not a bad idea, with everything they're getting into. He thinks about how helpless he felt when Wiesel attacked him, how little he'd been able to do to defend himself. If Jack wasn't Fey, Davey would've been dead. The star nods. "Okay."

"Okay?" Race echoes in confusion, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, teach me to fight," Davey explains. "At least enough to defend myself, you know?"

Race contemplates him shrewdly for a second and then nods. "Okay. Looks like we gonna be storm free for today, we'll do that later when Specs takes over here." He twists around to toss the stub of his cigar over the back of the ship and then flashes a mischievous grin at Davey. "Keep this up, Mouth, we'll turn ya inta' proper pirate yet."

* * *

 

Jack grips the edge of the hammock, focused on his breathing to get his heartbeat back down to a less painful speed. It's a familiar practice, even if it's been a little while since he's had to do it. Nightmares aren't exactly new to him and neither was this particular one.

Finally feeling steady, Jack opens his eyes and his gaze flicks to his bag at the end of his hammock. The cylinder for his sketches is just barely sticking out but he doesn't reach for it. He doesn't need to look at the painting to remember it. He probably shouldn't be surprised he had that dream again for the first time in ages, not after yesterday.

His brother. Jack lets out a breath and scrubs a hand through his hair. It still doesn't feel real to think about it. Less than two weeks ago, he didn't even know he had a brother. Up until yesterday, he's spent the whole time thinking that brother was dead. And now… It's still a possibility, but the hope is there. Somewhere out there in Stormhold, his brother might be alive. Jack might actually have a  _ family _ , which is a thought so alien he doesn't even really know what to do with it.

Bracing himself, Jack straightens up and reaches for his shirt. There are other things to worry about right now, a whole world of kids that need him to lead. Jack finishes dressing, noting that the bunk room is empty except for Dutchy, who must've been on night shift. Once he feels put together, Jack pulls his hat on and jogs up onto the deck.

A shout draws his gaze and he looks up just in time to see Race swinging a fist at Davey's head. David ducks beneath the blow and shuffles back a step, flailing slightly. "Keep ya fists up," Spot barks, perched on top of a nearby barrel. Les is bouncing around next to him eagerly. "A punch in the head'll take ya out of it quick." Davey hastily pulls his arms back up, fists in front of his chin, without taking his eyes off Race.

Jack crosses over to stand on Spot's other side, watching the fight. "The hell's goin' on?" he asks curiously. "Race fin'ly snap?"

Spot snorts. "That happened a long time ago," he replies dryly. Race makes a rude hand gesture over his shoulder and then hastily sidesteps as David seizes the distraction to lunge for him. The star scrambles to get his footing again and receives a punch in the ribs in the process. "Figured the kid should know how ta' fight if we're gonna be goin' 'round stirrin' up trouble," Spot finishes. "Don't leave ya sides open like that, Mouth."

"Not a bad idea," Jack remarks, his eyes following the fight as Race tries to press his advantage and Davey knocks his blows aside.

"Yeah, speakin' of," Spot says. There's a sudden flare of golden-yellow light and Jack barely manages to scramble out of the way of Spot's fist. He spins on his heel and brings his arms up just as Spot swings again, and the impact sends Jack sprawling backward across the deck. He coughs, struggling to get his breath back, and glowers up at the captain.

"The  _ hell _ ?" he asks irritably.

"Why doncha use your magic?" Spot asks in reply. "I know youse used it 'fore."

"I dunno how," Jack answers, shrugging. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, rubbing at the sting on his forearms. "On'y times I ever done it, it just happened."

"No, it didn't," Katherine chips in from where she's been watching the interaction from the rail with Finch and Skittery. Her face is bright with realization. "It's not random. It's  _ instinct _ . That's what triggers your magic, right?" This question is directed at Spot, who nods. "The first time you did it was when Wiesel attacked David, and the second time was when those men went after Les."

Something sparks in Spot's eyes and he clicks his tongue against his teeth. Smirking, he abruptly pivots and hurls a fistful of light directly at Davey. Jack is halfway to his feet before he knows it, and there's a now familiar buzz beneath his skin. Across the deck, the ball of gold dissolves in a swirl of blue-white, inches from the star's chest. Jack freezes as the significance of the moment hits him.

"Like she said," Spot says, glancing between the two of them. "Instinct."

"What's that s'pose to mean?" Jack asks uncertainly.

"He's saying that  _ your  _ instinct," Katherine says, "is to protect other people. That's why your magic reacts when other people are in danger but not when it's you."

Race snorts. "One'a them stupid self-sacrificin' guys." He yelps when Davey smacks him in the back of the head and jumps at the star, trying to drag him back into a fight.

"Which means if ya wanna get the hang'a usin' your magic, that's the feelin' ya gotta work from," Spot says, the gold fading off his hands as he folds his arms. "And if youse gonna lead us inta' some big fight against the king, you gonna wanna be able ta' do that. So, looks like Mouth ain't the only one gettin' fightin' lessons."

* * *

 

The next three days pass in a blur of endless activity. Any time that isn't spent actually running the ship, the pirates are training Jack and Davey to defend themselves. David is completely exhausted each night when he collapses into his bunk, muscles aching and covered in bruises from practicing with the other boys. He doesn't master much in the way of fighting, learning more about how to get away from a fight than how to win one.

"The sorta folks we're gonna be goin' up 'gainst," Spot says in the middle of one sparring session, "pro'lly ain't gonna be just throwin' punches. Warlocks ain't gonna bother gettin' close 'nough. Youse best bet is ta' keep your defenses up, make sure no one gets hold'a ya." He darts below Davey's swing, hooking his arms up beneath the star's arms and lacing his fingers behind David's neck. "'Cause once they do, someone else gotta save youse ass."

Grunting, David drops to one knee and pitches his shoulder forward. Spot is caught off guard by the abrupt shift and the captain tumbles awkwardly over his side, losing his grip on David in the process, and he crashes down on his back on the deck. Before the captain can recover, Davey stands up and takes several steps back, settling into a defensive position with a grin. "Unless I save myself," he quips back.

On the quarterdeck, where Race has been helping Jack practice his magic, both of the other boys erupt into laughter and applause. "He got the drop on you, Cap'n," Race hollers, cackling.

"Not bad, Mouth," Spot responds, nodding thoughtfully. He flings a hand out and, with a snap of yellow-gold light, Davey's feet are jerked out from beneath him. The star yelps and lands on his back, the air rushing out of his lungs. "But like I said, ain't just gonna be folks throwin' punches."

Even though David doesn't quite get the hang of hand-to-hand combat, he finds that he does far better with weaponry. Specs teaches him to handle a knife, and he feels much better about defending himself that way, even if he's hesitant about the thought of actually using a knife against a person.

The best, though, is when Katherine and Spot walk him through the basics of swordplay. Suddenly, Davey's too-long limbs seem to cooperate with him and he moves through the stances with a gracefulness he didn't know his body could achieve. He also appreciates that while it still won't do anything to protect him from a warlock, a sword does allow him to keep a little distance from his attackers.

Watching Jack's progress with his Fey magic is fascinating, and any time David isn't preoccupied with his own training, he watches in awe. It seems that now he's found the key to accessing his magic, whatever was blocking him before is gone. Like with the star, the pirates stress defense more than anything, teaching him techniques for protecting himself and others from warlock attacks. Jack launches himself into his training with a ferocity that Davey's never seen on him before, and he often times pushes himself to the point of exhaustion trying to grasp new concepts.

"A'right, easy, let's take a break," Spot says, waving a hand to shoo him. Jack exhales heavily, tugging off his cap to wipe the sweat from his brow, and he comes over to lean against the rail with a frustrated noise.

"You're so close," David says encouragingly, bumping his shoulder. The human makes another irritated noise. "Seriously, it's amazing how much you've learned in just a couple days. You heard Spot, this sort of stuff usually takes guys weeks to get down."

"I ain't got weeks," Jack responds with a huff. "I gotta get this stuff. What good am I if I go leadin' these kids into a fight and I can't even fight myself?"

Davey scowls, and he pitches his weight onto one elbow so he can face Jack better. "Hey, look at me," he says and shoves the human's shoulder pointedly. He waits until Jack grudgingly lifts his gaze before continuing, "What's this about? This isn't the Jack Kelly I know."

"The fella youse known a week?" Jack retorts acerbically.

"Yeah, _that_ fella," the star shoots back. "The guy who gave up his own easy route to help out someone lost a long way from home. The guy who fought off a warlock to save me. Who jumped on a lightning bolt to protect others without thinking about his own safety. And who saw the injustice that the rest of this world has been pointedly ignoring for generations and said 'no more.'"

Jack chuckles under his breath, but there's a faintly pleased slant to his smile. "So yeah, where's that fella?" Davey says, raising an eyebrow. "Because that guy is the one who inspired a bunch of kids with no hope to take back their freedom. And with what we're heading into, we could really use that guy leading us."

"Youse crazy," Jack says, shaking his head, but some of the lines have eased from his brow.

"Jack, no one is questioning you except you," David says firmly. "So why are  _ you _ ?"

Groaning, Jack scrubs a hand over his face. "Jesus, Dave, I dunno," he admits with a sigh.

Davey cocks his head thoughtfully. "Is this about your brother?" he asks, quieter. Jack shrugs, but there's no mistaking the sudden darkness in his features. The star reaches out and squeezes Jack's forearm reassuringly. "You know that's not your fault, Jack," he says. "And we're going to make it right."

"Just, what if-?" Jack trails off, frowning. "Ev'ry time I mess up at this stuff, I gotta wonder, what if I mess up when it matters? What if somethin' happens and I shoulda been able to stop it and I don't? I a'ready failed my brotha once; I can't fail these kids too."

"You won't."

Jack scoffs. "Youse so sure."

"I am," David says firmly. "When it matters is precisely when your magic works best, remember? The basic core instinct behind your magic is to protect people. So I know that when something happens, you're not going to mess it up." Then he smirks, the light in his eyes turning mischievous, and he adds, in an imitation of Jack's accent, "Fo'sure."

Jack barks a laugh, lightly slugging the star in the chest. He reaches out to tousle Davey's hair, knowing how much it annoys him, but David deflects his hand and darts a step back out of his reach. "Ya know, I still think youse good at that givin' speeches," Jack says, grinning. "Maybe the fellas is on ta' somethin' calling ya Mouth."

Davey makes a rude hand gesture but he's laughing. "Someone's got to talk sense into you when you're being stupid," he counters, prompting the human to take another swing at him. He ducks away, laughing, and scurries several steps backward when Jack lunges at him.

"A'right, Jack, back ta' work," Spot calls, interrupting their roughhousing. "Specs, your turn. Davey, youse with me." As Jack goes over to meet Specs on the quarterdeck, David follows the captain to the foredeck. He catches the sword Spot tosses his way, adjusting his grip on the hilt. "Ready?" Spot asks, flourishing his own sword experimentally. When the star raises his sword in response, they start moving through the work they did last time, Davey copying the captain's movements like a shadow.

"What's in your head, Mouth?" Spot asks abruptly, slapping the side of his sword against David's foot when he places it the wrong way for the stance. "You ain't payin' attention."

"Sorry, was just thinking about something else," Davey says, hastily shifting his position. The captain raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "It's just – with your Knack, I know you can tell who is a Fey. But can you tell what  _ their _ Knack is?"

Spot glances up, interested. "Most times," he agrees. "If not right away, I us'lly figure it pretty quick. Feel when they use it. Why?"

David rolls his wrist, correcting his grip. "Jack's," he says pointedly. "It's something to do with speaking, isn't it?" The captain tips his head, prompting him on. "I've felt it when he really gets going, and I've seen the way it gets to the others. When Jack really throws himself into a speech, there's this –  _ ripple _ . Like a hum under my skin. And in town, I noticed a sort of spark in his eyes, the same color as his magic." He glances pointedly toward the upper deck, just as Jack deflects Specs' blow with a flash of blue-white light. "That's his Knack, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's somethin' like that," Spot says. "He don't know?"

The star shakes his head. "I don't think he's even doing it on purpose," he admits.

"Didn't think so," the captain says with a nod. "I felt it too when he got goin' that first time. I ain't got it quite pinned down, exactly what it is, but far as I can tell, he can make folks get worked up. Makes 'em less afraid, more wantin' ta' fight."

"Inspired," Davey says.

"Exactly," says Spot. "It don't change folks' minds – I wouldn'a let him keep goin' if I thought he was makin' my boys do anythin' they didn't already wanna do. He just makes 'em inspired ta' really  _ do _ it." He taps David with the side of his sword, nodding for him to get back into position. "Why you askin'?"

"I was just thinking," the star says, holding his sword up defensively, "that we're about to head into one of the biggest and least Fey-friendly cities in Stormhold. And Jack's going to get up there and give his speech about all this. And people might be willing to listen, but odds are that even the ones who might be on our side are going to be too afraid to do anything when they think they're outnumbered, right?"

Spot nods thoughtfully, parrying Davey's swing easily. "Pro'lly. His Knack'll help though. They might not jump up right away, 'specially if there's Bulls 'round, but hopefully it puts the idea there so they come through when it mattas."

"Right, but what if we could make his Knack stronger?" David says, feinting toward the captain's left side before abruptly swinging at the other. Spot chuckles as he twists out of the way, but he nods approvingly. "What if there was a way to sort of enhance it so that it affects more people or gets to them stronger? What if we had a guy whose Knack is to make other people's Knacks more powerful?" And at this, he shoots a quick look toward the helm, where Finch is on duty at the wheel. "I mean, it couldn't hurt to try, right?"

"Well, I'll be…" Spot trails off, glancing from Finch to Jack, and then finally back up to Davey with a grin. "Ya know what? Might be somethin' ta' that idea. Plans like that, I'm startin' to think my boys are rubbin' off on ya." The star smiles, recognizing the compliment for what it is. "I'll talk ta' Finch tonight, see what he says. But for now, get ya sword back up and let's see if ya can fin'lly get this block down."

* * *

 

Jack has never felt a rush like the one he's feeling now. The hum beneath his skin is so powerful it's almost painful, and he's riding the waves of adrenaline as he shouts over the gathered crowd. They've drawn more people than he expected, large clusters of folks stopping to listen in the middle of the bustling market square.

"So I's here to tell you that we are  _ done _ ," he bellows and something in his chest leaps when several people echo his shouts, fists punching the air. "We are done bein' treated like slaves, just 'cause we ain't got the money to make you leave us 'lone like the warlocks do. We don't wanna rule nothin', we don't wanna scare ya into listenin' to us. We just wanna be free to live our lives like the rest'a ya."

Among the cheers and cries from the crowd, he can hear the crew of the Brooklyn whooping along with him. They are all gathered in a loose line, forming a vague protective barrier between Jack and the crowd in case of danger, but at some point, they all stopped watching the crowd and started watching him. Even Spot is more invested than normal, a broad smirk on his face as he bumps shoulders with Race.

"And for all you Fey out there," Jack continues, "know that our time is comin'. We're gatherin' in Wall, five days from now, and we're gonna show Pulitzer that he don't get to treat people like less just 'cause how they're born. That he picked the wrong kids ta' stomp on. And if we gotta-"

"Jack!"

He doesn't even see the rock until a flash of gold stops it inches from his face. It hovers there for a second before it drops heavily to the ground. Spot's attention has already moved on, the captain drawing his sword as he turns to glare furiously at the man who threw the rock. "Try that again," Spot dares the man venomously.

“Gladly,” snarls a burly man, cracking his knuckles. “Freaks like you is meant to be locked up. Ain’t bad ‘nough you pirates is goin’ ‘round breakin’ all the rules, now ya think youse gonna make all the others as bad as you? Not in this city.”

“Yes, this city,” Jack counters. “This city and ev’ry city in this whole damn kingdom. Ain’t right, forcin’ kids into chains and makin’ ‘em slave for a livin’.”

A few other people have broken away from the mass to stand at the man’s shoulders, and he seems bolstered by the support. Sneering derisively, he glares pointedly up at Jack. “Youse right ‘bout one thing,” he says. “Ain’t right puttin’ ya in chains. Had my way, we’d kill the whole lotta ya and be done with it.” The small posse around him roars enthusiastically, despite the scattered gasps and murmurs from the rest of the crowd.

“You monster!” Davey shouts, voice cracking with rage. “What the hells' wrong with you? You’re talking about  _ children _ .”

“You ain’t humans,” another of the group spits. “No better ‘an dogs. And a dog what don’t know it’s place should be put down.”

There is a swell of outrage at this, both sides shouting furiously at each other. People start shifting to aggressive postures, and just as it looks like a full-out brawl is going to start, a sharp command sounds. “Stand down!”

Another man steps forward, breaking away from the crowd to insert himself in front of the posse, and he draws himself up to his full height. He's wearing a crisp uniform, navy and brass with a stitched insignia of horns on the breast, and he is clutching a gleaming sword in one hand. "For the crime of being Unbound Fey within city limits," he declares loudly, carefully enunciating each word for maximum impact, "you are all hereby under arrest, by the authority of Lord Hearst."

"There's no crime to bein' out of chains!" Jack shouts back angrily. "There's no crime to bein' free of slavery. Them cuffs - the ones you folks force onto kids just 'cause youse scared, the ones made outta the same magic youse all so afraid of -  _ those _ are the real crime."

Several other men in uniform have materialized from within the crowd, lined up with their leader and holding their swords at the ready. The angry rabble are standing just behind, red-faced and teeth bared, like dogs itching for a fight. An agitated rustling rolls through the crowd, people shuffling back to get away from the immediate danger but none of them willing to miss seeing anything that might happen.

The leader clears his throat pointedly. "Those of you who surrender will be remanded to the Refuge, to serve your time and be returned to your proper place in society," he says. "Those of you who resist will, by the laws of Jerna, be sentenced to death by hanging."

"You will do no such thing!" Katherine says, her voice taking on a dangerous edge as he steps forward and raises her chin. "By the laws of Stormhold, which supersede the laws of district and provinces, no citizen may receive a sentence of death without first standing trial before a council. You are Bulls, and it is your duty to serve the laws of this kingdom. If Lord Hearst has told you to kill these boys, that puts him in direct violation of the very laws you are sworn to uphold."

"Lady Katherine," the lead man says in greeting, and a cruel smirk spreads across his lips as he gives a mocking bow. "It’s nice to know that you can cite the rules of the kingdom so long as they suit you. You have certainly flouted them often enough in the past.”  

Katherine's eyes flash. "Lord Hearst does not get to change the rules simply because he is afraid," she counters. "He knows that we are right, that there is no due cause to enslave the Fey who aren't so lucky to be born into noble families. And I believe that some of you know we’re right too."

"Don't let these guys make you afraid," Jack calls to the crowd. "'Cause these fellas ain't here to scare us. We ain't gonna be afraid, 'cause we don't got nothin' left ta' lose. These fellas are here for you, ta' make you scared of what might happen if youse brave enough to do what you know is right. Are you gonna keep lettin' them push you down ev'ry time you step outta line?"

"Rules exist for a reason." This comes from a new man who steps out of the crowd, carrying himself with a bearing of casual indifference. All of the Bulls immediately snap to attention, while a wave of fearful murmurs rolls through the onlookers. "They shape society, make it a safe place for all. This is why the Warlocks Guild created the structure that we have now."

"Easy ta' say when youse got enough money ta' never wear cuffs," Spot snarls.

"See what I mean?" Jack says, pointing to the warlock as he looks around at the gathered people. "On'y Fey that's allowed to keep their magic is the ones the king can keep on a leash. They tell ya it's to keep you safe, but it's really to keep you unda control. Youse all sayin' you don't trust Fey, don't think no one should have power like that, but you answer to a fella like him, who uses his power to make you do what he wants."

"As opposed to a boy who stirs up trouble because he doesn't want to do as he's told," the warlock counters coolly. Turning to the waiting guards, he says, "Take them all into custody. Check wrists. Escaped Fey can be executed; the ones that aren’t, the king wants brought to him unharmed. And I'm sure that he is eager to be reunited with his runaway daughter, of course."

"His daugh-" Jack glances down at Katherine, feeling something heavy settle in his gut at the startled, guilty look she sends his way.

"This is your last chance," the leader of the Bulls says firmly. "Surrender, or you will be taken into custody by force."

Spot steps forward and raises his chin, flourishing his sword pointedly. "Touch a single one'a my boys, and I'mma show you why you should be 'fraid of us."

"Afraid of some upstart thieves and criminals?" the Bull says with a condescending smirk.

"No, afraid of the Fey kids who're done bein' spit on," Spot replies.

Grinning dangerously, the Bull takes another step forward, and then he, very deliberately, spits in the captain's face.

Race is across the gap before Spot can even raise his sword, the blonde launching himself at the Bull with a furious bellow. Startled by the attack from an unexpected direction, the man barely gets his sword up in time to deflect the blow. Spot comes at him in the next breath, swinging at his unprotected side. With the impasse effectively broken, both Bulls and pirates throw themselves into the fight as absolute chaos breaks out around them.

Jack jumps down from the cart he's been standing on, scrambling to find a suitable weapon. A hand taps insistently at the back of his shoulder and Jack wheels around, fist raised before he realizes who is there. “Jesus, Les, ge’down!” he says, grabbing the kid by the collar and dragging him down into a gap between two carts.

“No, wait!” Les says, seizing his wrist in both hands. “Don’t let ‘em kill Davey!”

“What?” Jack asks, startled.

Les’ face is white with panic, eyes unnaturally wide as he gazes up at Jack. “The warlock, didn’t ya hear? They're gonna kill him.”

“He’s right.” Spot has wedged himself down into the gap by them, sword bloodied and a long gash across his bicep. “Said to check wrists,” the captain continues, breathing hard. “They must know if youse with us, so’s he. Warlock knows what Dave is.” Jack freezes, glancing from Spot to Les and back in shock. The captain scoffs. “Course we know,” he snaps. “S’my Knack, remember?”

“The warlock finds Davey and he’s gonna kill him,” Les repeats emphatically, chin jutting forward in an obvious attempt to mask his fear. “Please, Jack.”

“We can’t just cheese it,” Jack counters, frowning indecisively. “We’s in this togetha, we ain’t leavin’ you behind.”

“Doncha get it?” Spot growls, taking a fistful of Jack’s shirt and shaking him. “We get arrested, whateva. But the king gets his hands on Davey’s heart, and we're all done for. Whole kingdom, ev’ry Fey,  _ done _ .”

Jack feels a tremor of cold fear spilling down his back as he realizes what the captain is saying. He almost forgot, with everything else that they’ve got going on, that there is a price on David’s head. Or heart, rather. The king has already sent someone to kill Davey once before, in search of the immense power that the star’s heart will provide. Now, it seems that he’s spreading the word among his people, having all of his warlocks keep an eye out for them. The terror surges back to the surface.

“Go,” Spot says firmly. “We’ll cover ya.”

“See ya in Wall,” Jack says, because he needs the reassurance, flimsy as it might be, that he’s not about to abandon his friends to their doom.

“Five days,” Spot agrees with a grim nod. He tugs impatiently at the bands around his wrists, pulling them off and shoving them into Jack’s hand. “Give them ta’ Dave, cover up his wrists. Might help make folks think he’s Fey too. Wouldn’t hurt ta’ get you some too.” Jack can’t stop his gaze from lingering on the tangled mess of scarring around Spot’s wrists; Davey had told him, but the actual sight is so much worse.

Spot stabs at the ankles of a Bull as he walks passed their hiding spot, dropping him, and he lunges out long enough to drive the sword into the man’s chest. Jack covers Les’ eyes a second too late, feeling the kid recoil in horror. “Go!” Spot repeats. “We’ll make a distraction. Race’s been lookin’ for a chance to try his new toy anyway. Now get the hell outta here.” 

Nodding grimly, Jack turns and ruffles Les’ hair affectionately. “Stay safe, kid,” he says by way of farewell. Les nods back with that same expression of overly-bright bravery. With one last glance from him to the captain, Jack ducks out of the gap and back into the mayhem.

A Bull lunges for him almost immediately, and Jack dodges beneath the sword. Summoning the faint blue light to his fist, he drives a blow into the Bull’s ribs. The man buckles and Jack turns back to scouring the rushing mass of bodies for some sign of David. Bulls – aided by the angry posse - and pirates are brawling, in wild and frantic blends of weapons and sparking lights, while scared citizens are fleeing from the danger. Something in his chest leaps when he sees a random man jump into a fight to help Specs fend off a Bull; perhaps his speech  _ did _ do some good.

Jack spots the familiar profile in a brief gap of people, and he plunges forward into the group. “Davey!” he hollers, elbowing passed a cluster of panicking women. The star glances to him, eyes wide in alarm, and parries a blow from the Bull that’s bearing down on him. Jack throws himself at the man’s back, tackling him to the ground, and punches him hard enough that the Bull’s expression goes slack.

A sudden, explosive light fills the courtyard, a moment of piercing white that leaves Jack blinking away spots in his vision. He’s spent enough time around it lately to recognize the sharp shriek of lightning, and across the courtyard, he sees that the warlock has been knocked off his feet. People all around him are screaming and ducking, the fighting momentarily disrupted by this bizarre new interruption, and Jack seizes his chance.

Grabbing David’s wrist, he turns on his heel and runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also now been writing in turn of the century New York slang for so many months that I've started speaking that way as well. My office is a bit bemused that the English major is now using "ain't" and copious double-negatives... 
> 
> Side note: We've officially passed 100 pages in this story. So much for "short" story.


	6. Of Rainstorms and Rabbits...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The working title for this chapter was "the fluff before the storm," so there's that... #sorrynotsorry

For as long as Spot's been the captain of the Brooklyn, he's never seen his crew look so downtrodden. Not even in the very beginning, when they were just a handful of kids with no grasp of their magic and no clue what they were doing. They have all retreated into the bunk room, now that the ship is a safe distance out from the harbor and they're able to drop anchor for a bit, and boys are strewn about the room as they tend to each other's wounds.

A sudden spasm of pain makes Spot hiss through his teeth, and he glances down. Race is bent over the side of the hammock, brow furrowed in concentration as he drags a needle and thread through the gash that stretches across the left side of the captain's stomach. "Hold still wouldja?" the blonde says waspishly.

"Stars, where's Dutch?" Spot groans, jaw clenching as the needle slides in again. "He's betta at this."

"He's takin' care of Finch," Race says, even though Spot already knows that. The captain is distinctly aware of where each of his crew members is at, carefully following their movements and keeping track of their conditions. Dutchy is setting the first mate's broken arm; Skittery is helping Romeo patch up the cut to Specs' shoulder; Les and Lady Katherine are bringing supplies and water around as people need them. All of his people, a little worse for the wear but mercifully alive.

"'Sides, if ya don't like it, maybe that'll teach ya ta' not get stabbed," Race snaps.

"Ain't a good fight if ya don't get a scar outta it," Spot counters.

"Jackass," Race murmurs under his breath. Still, beneath the veneer of anger, Spot can see the way the blonde's fingers have gone white around the needle, and there's a wild, frantic light to his eyes. The captain reaches up to set a hand on the shaking fingers holding the needle, squeezing reassuringly. Race's eyes flick to Spot's face, and he exhales. Then he shakes off Spot's hand and goes back to the stitches. "Just 'bout done. Hold still a sec longer."

"Water?" Katherine asks, emerging from behind Race with a canteen. There's a patch of violet bruises blossoming along her jawline, and her expression is pinched with concern.

"M'good," says Spot, shaking his head. Race makes an irritated noise as the motion causes the hammock to shift. "Ev'ryone else okay?"

Katherine sighs. "Finch won't be holding a sword for a while, but everyone else is going to be fine," she reports. "It's all superficial. We were lucky, all things considered. If you hadn't taken out that warlock when you did, it might've been an entirely different story."

"That was all Racer," Spot says. He doesn't miss the pleased smile that flashes across Race's lips at the recognition.

"How?" Katherine asks curiously. "Was it real lightning?"

Race beams. "Grade-A, straight from the nets," he agrees. He releases the thread with one hand to pull the small copper cylinder from his belt and toss it up to the princess. "Been workin' on it a while, tryna come up with diff'rent ways ta' use the lightnin'. Figure it'd give us a bigger market, ya know? Had come up with a smaller carrier, ta' make it easier to shift for sellin'. Then I gets the idea, why not make 'em useable? So I rigged it up with a trigger. Ya twist that knob at the end, opens the front ta' let the lightnin' out."

"This is incredible," Katherine says, turning the cylinder over in her palms in fascination. "A portable lightning projectile."

"Absolute genius, s'what it is," Spot insists, shooting a significant look at Race. He's damned proud of the stuff the stupid punk comes up with all on his own. The Brooklyn would've never made it out of the docks in the first place without him, as the blonde likes to remind them all.

"Damn right, it is," Race says with a grin. "And it worked, so that's what really matta's."

"Was funny as hell," Romeo chips in from across the walkway. "Watchin' that warlock go flyin'." The rest of the room chuckles appreciatively.

"And it pro'lly saved all us skins," says Spot. As much as he hates to admit it, Bulls and other humans can be handled easily enough, even in bigger numbers, but a warlock's a different story. There's no knowing what sort of tricks they'll pull out, and his boys still only have the vaguest grasp of how to use magic on a good day.

"And Jack and Davey?" Katherine prompts uncertainly.

"Long gone, hopef'ly," the captain says. The last glimpse he'd gotten of the pair, he'd seen them disappearing into a side alley out of the courtyard. There's no way of knowing for sure, but he has to think that they got away from the city. Any other possibility is out of the question.

"Can't believe it," Specs murmurs angrily. "Takin' off like that, the both'a 'em. I really thought they meant it, ya know? But nope, went on the lamb first sign of trouba."

"They did _not_!" Les says furiously, glaring daggers at the older boy. "They wasn't runnin' from a fight."

"Face it, kid, they's gone," Dutchy says with a resigned sigh. "Cap'n was right all 'long."

"I told them to run," Spot interjects. A ripple of surprised noises fills the bunk room. "It was-" Spot hisses as Race tugs the thread tight, knotting it to hold it in place.

"Sorry," the blonde murmurs. Race cuts the end off with his knife, then picks up one of the whiskey bottles they've fetched out of storage. With only a quick nod as warning, the blonde splashes a healthy dose of liquor onto the stitches. Spot growls, jaw locking up and back bowing as he rides out the sharp burn. When he can finally open his eyes, he finds Race pressing a cloth to the stitches with one hand while the other is settled reassuringly against Spot's brow.

"C'mon, up with ya," Race coaxes, nodding. "Sit up so I can bandage this, wouldja?" Spot grabs hold of his arm, using the other boy to lever himself into a sitting position on the unsteady hammock. Once he's stable, Race hands him the whiskey bottle without a word. Spot throws back a long swallow gratefully.

"Cap'n?" Romeo prompts, drawing his gaze. "Whaddya mean you told 'em ta' go?"

"Exactly what I said," Spot says. "I told 'em ta' get outta Jerna. They was just doin' what I told."

"But _why_?" Specs asks.

Spot bites the inside of his cheek as he deliberates. It's not his secret to tell, but it's also not fair to keep the truth from his crew. Not after all of the trust they've placed in him for so long, or the unquestioning loyalty. He glances down at Race, the only other person who knows, and the blonde nods a silent agreement.

"'Cause the king's been huntin' for Jack and Davey since we picked 'em up," the captain says levelly. "'Cause Davey's a fallen star."

The immediate clamor of voices doesn't surprise him, boys talking over each other in a deluge of questions. Spot gives them a moment and then whistles sharply, cutting through the noise. All of the boys fall silent, staring at him expectantly. "I ain't got all the answers," he says. "But that's why I told 'em to run. 'Cause ya know what'll happen if Pulitzer gets his hands on that kinda power." The crew's expressions somber as they process this information.

Romeo is the one who finally breaks the silence, clearing his throat and fidgeting with a spare bandage he's holding. "Okay, so what next?"

"We sail south a bit more, get well away from Jerna," Spot says resolutely. He lifts his arm when Race prods his elbow, moving it out of the way so the blonde can tie off the bandaging over his stitches. "Then we make land. From there, s'up to youse guys whatcha wanna do. I'mma head on ta' Wall, meet up with Jack and Davey there. If any'a youse changed your minds, ain't gonna judge."

"We ain't givin' up," Finch says fiercely. The first mate is pale as a sheet in his hammock, knuckles white around a liquor bottle he's been nursing as Dutchy carefully splints the other arm, but Finch sets his jaw determinedly. "We's with you, Spot. Always is."

Spot's gaze pans around the bunk room, taking in all of the other resolute expressions staring back at him. The swell of pride in his chest brings a small smile to his face. "Then rest up," he says. "Firs' thing, we find a safe place ta' dock the Brooklyn. Should still get ta' Wall in time for the rally." He slings back another mouthful of whiskey and holds a hand out to Race. "Help me up."

"Where you think youse goin'?" Race replies, raising an eyebrow and scowling.

"Ta' sail my ship," Spot answers and gives him a challenging look. "Or ya think they ain't gonna send someone out afta us?"

"Nah, I'm sure they will," says Race. "But you ain't sailin' nothin' in your condition. We got the sailin', you lay your ass back down."

"He's right, Cap'n," Specs interjects. "Let someone that ain't been sewed shut take the helm. We need ya in fightin' shape."

Romeo stands up, tossing the extra bandages to Les to be put away. "I got the helm, boss," he says. "Skits, gimme a hand?" The wiry boy nods and bounds to his feet, as over-eager to be helpful as always.

"Could you use another pair of hands?" Katherine asks. "I don't know much about sailing, but I learn fast."

Several people glance at her in surprise, but Romeo breaks out into a grin. "Hmm, me thinks the lady wants ta' learn the ropes from a _real_ man," he teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"You thinks wrong, Romeo," the girl responds, smirking. "But as long as I'm aboard, I'd like to be of use. Especially since you're so short-handed at the moment."

"Welcome ta' the crew, princess," Spot says with a nod. Even as she wrinkles her nose at the name, her eyes brighten with pleasure. "A'right, make ya'self useful then. Romeo, head us south-southeast. Figure we can make port down near Kenwick, follow that road ta' Wall. Keep us outta reach of any the king's ships, if ya can."

Romeo taps the brim of his hat in salute and then gestures for Skittery and Katherine to follow him out of the bunkroom. Spot waits until he can hear their footsteps on the deck above before he relaxes, grunting as the exhale tugs at his stitches. Race's eyes flick to him, instantly narrowed. "Down with ya," he orders, nodding to the hammock.

"Since when you the one givin' orders?" Spot shoots back. "This's a damn mutiny."

"Sure is," Race agrees unconcernedly. He seems to consider the hammock for a second and then stands. "Budge up, wouldja?"

"The hells you doin'?" asks Spot. Race doesn't respond, hauling himself onto the hammock behind Spot, legs draped over either side. "Getcha own bunk," Spot says, giving the blonde an unimpressed look.

"Shut the hells up and lay down," Race bites back, hooking a hand over Spot's shoulder and tugging. When the captain resists, glancing around the bunk room, Race sighs irritably. "Oh please, like they ain't all know a'ready."

"He ain't wrong," Specs agrees, smirking. The low rumble of muffled laughter that follows makes Spot scowl. 

"I ain't snugglin' ya like some girl in front'a my damn crew," Spot growls.

Race's eyes narrow dangerously, his mouth set in a hard line. "I just watched ya catch a sword in the gut tonight," he hisses, quietly enough that only Spot can hear him. "So eitha lay down righ'now, or I'mma throw ya over my shoulder and haul ya up ta' the cabin like a bride. You choose."

"You wouldn't dare," Spot says, although he knows it's a mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth. Race simply meets his stare, one eyebrow raised in challenge. After a long, tense moment, Spot curses under his breath. "Don't know why the hells I put up with ya," he mutters, but when Race tugs at his shoulder again, he lets the blonde pull him back against his chest. It takes a bit of maneuvering, getting the both of them comfortable in the single hammock, but they manage it.

"So take it outta my hide tomorrow," Race says, nonchalant. His legs are curled along either side of Spot's hips, the slightly-too-narrow hammock pressing bony knees into his thighs almost painfully. Still, Race hooks an ankle over the captain's calf, draping his arms down over Spot's chest, and if his grip is a bit tighter than usual, neither of them mentions it. Spot turns his head, ear pressed over Race's chest where he can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"Whatcha did, with that Bull," says Spot, still aiming for annoyed, "don't need ya defendin' my honor. I ain't some skirt."

Race huffs, and it ruffles Spot's hair. "Course not. Youse my captain. Way more 'portant than some skirt. I'mma outta a job without ya."

Snorting in amusement, Spot rolls his eyes. At the same time, he brings his hand up and brushes his thumb across the grazes on Race's knuckles. He won't deny - even if he won't say it aloud - that it was a relief to find that some scrapes and bruises were the worst the blonde picked up in the fighting. The idiot is a bit too reckless on even a good day. At least for the moment, his people are here and safe and alive.

Spot breathes deeply, letting the familiar scent of sea spray and engine grease and cheap tobacco ease the remaining tension from his muscles, and closes his eyes. Still, before he can drift off - "I hear a word 'bout this from any'a ya tomorrow, I'mma throw ya overboard."

* * *

The courtyard market of Jerna is an absolute wreck, stalls knocked down and wares scattered and broken across the cobblestones. Shopkeepers look tired and frazzled, all of them shuffling around and attempting to clean up the debris. Bulls are patrolling the streets, all at attention. As their cart rattles to a stop in front of Lord Hearst's manor, Crutchie can feel dozens of angry, distrustful looks sent his way. He's used to getting sour looks from people in Jerna, but this is definitely an escalation from the usual.

"Tend to the horses," Snyder growls. The warlock sweeps from the wagon, marching up to the manor doors. Crutchie snaps the reins, guiding the horses around the side to the stables. When he reaches the open area, he slides down off the bench, clinging to the side to keep his balance. His leg isn't bothering him as much as usual, so instead of going around to the back of the wagon to find his crutch, he threads a hand into the horse's harness and uses that to help him walk.

"Hey, Crutchie!" The greeting comes from a Fey boy mucking out a stall, who pauses in his work to raise a hand in greeting.

"Tommy Boy," Crutchie says, beaming, as he steers the horses over to the water trough. Once they are settled, he leans his weight into the side of the trough. "Hey, how's ya? Ain't seen you in ages."

"Same as always," Tommy Boy answers, shrugging. "Chores and chores. Dunno, think the Lordliness is tryna keep us outta the manor much as poss'ble, got us doin' all this work outside."

Crutchie shoots a quick glance skyward; there are no real clouds yet, but he can feel it. "Might wanna save whateva inside chores ya got for tomorra," he advises. "Gonna rain."

"Fo'sure?" Tommy Boy asks, looking up at the clear sky. "Thanks fa' the tip. Wish I had a Knack like yours, would save me gettin' stuck in the mud more." He leans his broom against the wall and comes out of the stall so he can talk better, wiping his hands clean on a rag. "What 'bout you? Spider got ya runnin' circles? Nice ta' see youse at least a people again for a bit," the older boy adds with a smirk.

Crutchie snorts, rolling his eyes; Snyder has a particular talent for shifting people into animals - which he uses primarily to transport Fey to the Refuge without them being able to put up a fight - and he often practices it on Crutchie when he doesn't want to deal with him. It's gotten to the point where having his body change on him without warning doesn't even faze him anymore. "Sorta surprised, honest," Crutchie admits, tugging off his cap and carding a hand through his hair. "He's proper all-fired lately. The king's on him 'bout all this stuff goin' on."

"That why youse here?" asks Tommy Boy, eyes brightening. "Stars, Crutch, ya shoulda seen it. Ain't never seen a brawl like that 'fore."

"S'that what happened out there?" Crutchie asks, gesturing over his shoulder back toward the main square.

Tommy Boy nods knowingly. "Absolute riot," he says. "Ya heard 'bout the pirates?"

Crutchie nods. Snyder had stopped in Quarterway the day before last, and Crutchie'd heard the stories; a pirate crew of freed Fey kids had arrived in town, preaching about a rebellion. They heard similar news in the cities they passed through on the way down, people whispering about Fey kids coming through talking about a gathering. "So it's real?" he asks, unable to stop the leap of hope in his chest.

"Saw 'em myself," Tommy Boy says conspiratorially. "'Bout a dozen of 'em. Got this guy, he's up shoutin' 'bout how we's gonna fight back, get us all free. Was real good, too. I ain't never believed it so much as I did last night. Was ready to go start fightin' myself. Woulda done, 'cept-" He lifts an arm, showing the cuff on his wrist pointedly. "Thing is, I's heard they can get 'em off."

"Can _not_ ," Crutchie counters, skeptical.

"Nah, I think it's true," the older boy says, enthusiastic. "A buncha them kids, they was in cuffs once, you can tell. Got the scars, ya know? And, well, ya spent much time in Tryb?"

"A little," says Crutchie.

"There's this Fey kid works there, up in Lord Kinsley's place. Skittery. Ya met him 'fore? Anyway, I met him a coupla times, when we was there," Tommy Boy says, lowering his voice. "And last night, pretty sure I saw him _with_ them pirates. No cuffs." Crutchie's eyebrows shoot up, surprised. "I dunno. Don't wanna hope, but I's thinkin' this Jack fella might be the real thing."

"Jack?" Crutchie asks, his traitorous heart skipping a beat. It's a bit inconvenient that his older brother's name - one of the few things Crutchie remembers clearly from before the Refuge - is so horribly common. He's met dozens of Jacks in his life already, but none of them are ever the right Jack. None of them are Jack _Kelly_. Unfortunately, even after ten years of disappointments, he still can't stop himself from getting his hopes up every time he hears the name again.

"Yeah, that's the kid was doin' the speech," says Tommy Boy, oblivious to Crutchie's internal turmoil. "Least that's what his friend called him. Oh skies, Crutch, it was wild. Some fella threw a rock, and one'a the pirates just stopped it, mid-air. With magic. They was all usin' it when they was fightin'. Was incredible. Stars, can you 'magine what that's gotta feel like?"

"No," Crutchie admits, awed. He fidgets with the cuff on one wrist; he's been in them as long as he can remember, and he's got no memory of ever using magic not accompanied by the burn and sting of the cuffs. Truth be told, he risks it as rarely as possible, since it also tends to flare the hex on his leg. The concept of being able to use magic freely, without fear of pain or punishment, is so far out of his realm of understanding he doesn't even know what to do with it. "Wow, so you think it's for real?"

Tommy Boy sighs dramatically. "Damn, I do," he admits, shaking his head. "And if the king's got the Spider here doin' clean up, I think he's gotta think so too. Hearst sic'd a whole buncha Bulls on 'em, and even a warlock, and they still got 'way. One'a the kids, he shot lightnin' at the warlock."

"Now youse pullin' my leg," says Crutchie, wrinkling up his nose.

Tommy Boy laughs. "Ya'd fall ova if I did," he says, elbowing him playfully. "Nah, I'm serious. Told ya, I seen it with my own eyes. Threw him clean 'cross the square. Heard he was out half a day." He shakes his head, scratching his wrist thoughtfully. "And ya know, they got that Lady Katherine with 'em too."

Crutchie's eyebrows raise in surprise. Everyone in the kingdom knows the story - how the king's daughter broke off all ties with her father, took up her mother's family name, and set out on her own - but no one seems to be able to agree on why. Some say it was about an arranged marriage, some say she wants to take his throne and he tossed her out, or that she stormed out after a fight about policies. Crutchie wonders if maybe this is why; if she left to help the Fey. Would certainly explain why she fell out with Pulitzer.

"Gotta think that means somethin', right?" Tommy Boy says hopefully. "Last I heard, she was out searchin' for the Gem. Hearst was all kindsa fired up 'bout that, lemme tell ya, goin' on how it wasn't proper, a girl goin' for the throne. So, I figure if she's stopped doin' that, must've been for somethin' important, doncha think?" He pauses, tugging at his kerchief. "The pirates, they was sayin' they gonna rally. Gettin' Fey from all o'er to meet up in Wall, gonna march on the castle. And I dunno, I was thinkin'-"

"Youse gonna go?" Crutchie whispers in shock, glancing around to make sure there's no one nearby.

"I dunno," Tommy Boy says, shrugging. "Was just thinkin' it. Don't think I could get all way ta' Wall without gettin' caught though. Not on my own."

One of the horses - the blonde palomino that's always been particularly fond of him - bumps its nose against the back of Crutchie's head. He flails to steady his balance, grabbing onto the horse's harness as he considers all of this. Rumors go around the kingdom all the time about Fey revolts, but they are never anything more than whispers and talk. These kids are actually acting on their words, and from what Crutchie can tell, the fever is spreading far and fast.

Is it too much to hope that this might be the time it actually happens?

"You should do it," Crutchie says decisively. Tommy Boy looks at him in surprise. "If ya can. You think you can get away without gettin' caught?"

Tommy Boy shrugs again. "Dunno. Maybe. If I go at night, can pro'lly get outta the city 'fore anyone notices I's gone. You serious?"

"Yeah," Crutchie says. "'Cause if somethin' goes down and they ain't got as many folks as they can, we's gonna regret it, right? And I mean, if they really got some way'a gettin' these things off," he taps his cuffs deliberately, "it'd be worth it just for that, doncha think?"

"What 'bout you?" Tommy Boy asks.

Crutchie snorts. "Like I'mma be doin' any runnin' away with this leg," he says, shrugging. "But I figure, we's pro'lly gonna be headed that way anyway. If Spider's tryna chase down the kids startin' this thing, and those pirates were shoutin' 'bout a meetin' in Wall, that's gonna be where he goes."

Tommy Boy has gone quiet, his expression thoughtful, and then he nods. "A'right," he agrees. "I'mma do it. Maybe see - there's this girl, works in the kitchens. See if she wanna come too." He beams. "Stars, can't believe this. S'madness."

"It is," says Crutchie, but he's grinning too. His curiosity is itching beneath his skin, despite his attempts to quash it, and he can't stop himself from adding, "So this kid Jack, whatcha know 'bout him?"

"Not a lot, mostly just rumors," Tommy Boy says. "Don't think he's a Refuge kid, fo'sure, ain't got the scars for it. But I heard from the kid works for the warlock, he's one'a the guys what got 'way from Weasel."

"Wait, what?" Crutchie asks. "What 'bout Weasel?"

Tommy Boy leans in and lowers his voice. "So I guess some Fey kid got the drop on Weasel, week or so ago," he explains. "Figure he's gotta be someone 'portant, ya know, if the king's sendin' Weasel after him. But the king's been sendin' word ta' all the warlocks since, to keep an eye for two fellas, one's a Fey and one not. Dunno why he'd want a kid that ain't Fey, but that's what Stubs was tellin'."

Crutchie thinks back to the conversation he overheard at Stormhold Fortress, where the king was furious at Weasel for letting a Fey escape with a star. A Fey and a star that were also traveling with Lady Katherine. It has to be the same two guys, right? It would be too big a coincidence otherwise. But if so, how did they get wrapped up in all this stuff with the revolt? Surely a star in Stormhold would be trying to keep their head down, not draw attention. Getting wound up in something like this is nothing short of a death wish.

"Where you at, boy!"

The bellow startles Crutchie, and Tommy Boy grabs his arm as Crutchie fumbles upright again. "Gotta go," he says hastily, exchanging tight frowns with the other boy. Lacing one hand into the horse's tack again, he casts one last look at Tommy Boy. "And, uh, don't forget what I said 'bout the weather. If youse gonna be out tomorra, take a coat, yeah?" he adds pointedly.

Tommy Boy fights back a smile and nods. "Yeah, you too," he says. "Be careful, kid."

Crutchie leans his weight against the horse and limps out to the front of the manor. Snyder is standing at the bottom of the stairs, one foot tapping impatiently and expression thunderous. Crutchie gulps; clearly, yet another meeting that didn't go well. "Took you long enough," the warlock snarls as soon as the wagon reaches the steps. Snyder grabs Crutchie by the back of the neck, and the boy yelps as it throws his balance off, pitching toward his bad side.

Before Crutchie can so much as reach for a handhold, he feels the now-familiar shimmer of fire along his spine. Bones and joints pop beneath the fiery pain of magic rolling through him, and between one breath and the next, his body is changed. Snyder is still holding him by the scruff of his neck, and Crutchie instinctively ducks his head, staring down at the ground that suddenly seems so much further away from his feet - _paws_.

"When I tell you to come, you come," Snyder growls in his face, stomping toward the back of the wagon. "Stop wasting my time, you useless cripple. I'm starting to think you're more trouble than you're worth." Clattering into the back of the wagon, Snyder jerks open the hatch of a small steel kennel and tosses Crutchie inside. There's no stopping the pained _yip_ as Crutchie's tiny body slams none-too-gently against the bars of the cage. "Might be time for a new Fey."

A cold thrill of terror glides over Crutchie at the threat, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. Before he can look up to try and judge how serious Snyder is, the warlock has stormed out of the wagon and slammed the door behind him. Crutchie curls up in a corner of the kennel, shifting his weight to favor his bad leg, and tucks his head between his paws as the wagon shudders into motion.

Skies, he hopes this Fey revolt is the real deal; this might be his last chance before he's out of time. 

* * *

David hunkers down further into their makeshift shelter - an abandoned, overturned wagon, half-hidden in bushes off the side of the road - and listens to the steady rhythm of raindrops on the warped wood. Jack is asleep, propped up in the opposite corner, with his legs pulled up to his chest in an attempt to preserve body heat. It's been more than a day since they fled Jerna, a frantic escape through the streets after the riot that erupted in the city square, and this is the first proper rest they've taken.

The first night was nothing but running, darting down the winding roads out of the city and through the surrounding farmland. They hadn't dared stop until well into the morning, continually looking over their shoulders to check for anyone following them, but it seemed that the pirates had managed to buy them enough time to escape unnoticed. Still, they made a point to stay outside of towns and away from the main roads, trekking along narrow dirt paths and through the brush.

Both of them have only gotten a few hours of sleep apiece, taking it in shifts so that someone was watching for any incoming searches. The tension is heavy, nerves worn thin between stress and exhaustion, and they have hardly exchanged a dozen words between them in over twenty-four hours. As much of an inconvenience as it is, the sudden rainstorm is also a small relief; with Jack properly asleep for the moment, Davey isn't forced to keep up a strong front.

The truth is, he's scared. He let himself get caught up in all of the excitement of the rebellion, let himself become so deeply ingrained into the pirates' crusade that he forgot, for a little while, that he isn't one of them. As much as he might want to belong, he doesn't. He isn't safe in Stormhold, and he never will be, not as long as there are people out there looking for the sort of power his heart can provide. And now that the king has gotten desperate enough to send his warlocks out after them, Davey knows he can't stay in Stormhold much longer.

He has to go home, whether he wants to or not.

Which is, of course, what it all boils down to in the end: He doesn't _want_ to go home anymore. He's still homesick, and nothing will ever replace that sensation of being connected to his family, but he's found something else on earth that he never had at home. He has _friends_ , people he genuinely cares about and who somehow care about him. It's inexplicable and alien, but true, and the thought of giving it up causes such a sharp pain in his chest that he doesn't know how to handle it.

A soft moan draws Davey out of his thoughts, and he glances across their shelter at Jack. The human's expression is tight, brow furrowed even in sleep, and as David watches, he winces again. This time when he whines, the sound is so broken and sad that the star can't take it. Sitting up, he reaches over and touches Jack's knee. "Jack."

Jack flinches and curls into a tighter ball, his face tucked against his knees. "Jack, you're okay, it's a dream," David says, moving his hand to Jack's shoulder. The human snaps awake with a gasp, his eyes wide and panicked as they dart around. He's shaking when his gaze finally lands on Davey, and he seems to relax slightly.

"Sorry, what-?" Jack clears his throat, scrubbing a hand over his face. "You say somethin'?"

"You were having another nightmare," says David, brow creased with concern. "That's the third time this week, Jack. Are you okay?"

Jack cards a hand back through his hair and exhales. "M'fine," he says. "S'just a dream."

"When's the last time you got a good day's sleep?" Davey asks, then backpedals with a self-deprecating smile. "I meant night. Good _night's_ sleep."

"What's that?" Jack retorts, summoning up a teasing grin. The star gives him a deadpan look in response. "S'fine, Davey, really. Just got lots goin' on, ya know? Ain't like either us been sleepin' great." David frowns, worrying his lip. Jack's smile flickers and he picks at his fingernails. "I just, uh, I think I been rememberin'."

Davey tips his head curiously. "Remembering what?"

Jack shrugs, wrapping his arms around his knees and hugging them to his chest. "I dunno, bein' here before," he says. "When I was a kid, ya know?" David's eyes widen in surprise. "I never used'ta remember nothin' from before the orphanage. But since I got here, I been havin' dreams like the ones I used'ta have 'bout my brother when I was li'l. Don't really make sense, just sorta feelin's and flashes. S'got worse since Spot said 'bout my brotha."

"Oh, Jack." David slides closer until his shoulder bumps against the human's. "I'm sorry, I had no idea."

"Ain't youse fault," Jack says dismissively. "They's just confusin'. Sometimes they ain't bad, the ones that's just him, I think. But sometimes I think I rememba escapin'. Bein' scared, and runnin', and this scream. _His_ scream." He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut, and drops his forehead against Davey's shoulder. Even chilled by the weather, the human's skin is so much warmer than the star's, a soft heat that sinks through his sleeve. "Them's the ones that wake me up. And I don't like 'em, don't wanna remember that, but then I don't got memories of my brotha so I don't wanna lose 'em either."

"We're going to find him, Jack," Davey says firmly, resting his chin on the top of Jack's head. "I mean it. We'll find him. Hey, maybe he'll even be waiting for us in Wall when we get there. Maybe he's heard about all this from one'a the fellas, and he'll come to help us."

Jack huffs out a breath. "So I can get him killed too?"

David flinches, closing his eyes against the sudden tidal wave of images he's been refusing to acknowledge since they left Jerna. They have no way of knowing what happened to the crew of the Brooklyn after they left, and even though neither of them has said it aloud, Davey knows it's been eating at Jack as much as it has him. It's possible the pirates won the fight or at least escaped back to the Brooklyn. It's also possible that they lost and were arrested, or worse.

"They're fine," Davey says, as much to himself as to Jack. Frowning, he fidgets with the leather bands tied around his wrists, a gift from Spot. (A loan, Davey tells himself resolutely; he'll give them back when this is all over.) The leather is worn and brittle in places, warped by age and exposure to the elements, and he scratches at a flaking piece. "They'll be fine. It'd take more than a couple of Bulls to take out Spot Conlon and his boys."

"But what if they ain't?" Jack counters, jerking his head up so fast he clips Davey's chin, making the star bite his tongue. The human's eyes are red-rimmed and wild as he looks at David. "What if they don't make it? If I got any'a them killed, that blood's on _my_ hands."

David locks his jaw, pulling on his best approximation of authority. "That's not on you, Jack. They knew the risks going in, and they made a choice to follow you. Just like the rest of the kids out there that are expecting you to lead them."

"I ain't leadin' nothin'. All I's done so far is start a war I dunno how ta' fight. Christ, Dave, I dunno what I'm doin'!" Jack snaps, fisting his hands in his hair. "All them kids woulda been betta off if I never opened my damned mouth."

"No, you don't get to do that," says Davey, voice hard. "You don't get to back out now just because you're scared."

"Course I'm scared!" Jack's voice cracks as he half-shouts it, shaking again. "Them guys was ready ta' hang us all just for bein' there. I mighta got our friends killed, and the king's got all his warlocks out lookin' for us so he can gut ya, Davey. So yeah, call me a coward, but that ain't somethin' I can just live with."

Davey pushes up onto his knees to face Jack, his head scraping the ceiling of their tiny shelter, and he grabs Jack's shoulders firmly. "Don't you get it?" he says, fixing the human with a fiery glare. "That's exactly why we can't quit. It's _working_. Pulitzer is afraid."

"Oh yeah? 'Cause it don't look that way ta' me," says Jack. "Looked a lot like he sent a buncha Bulls afta us and we was gettin' our asses kicked."

"No, exactly, that's my point," the star rushes on pointedly. "He sent all those guys after us. Those guys were _waiting_ for us. They knew we were headed that way and they were ready. Which means the word is getting out." Despite the skeptical look Jack gives him, Davey can see something softening in his expression, a faint hope taking root. "Why would he bother to send all those guys after us if he didn't see us as a real threat?"

"But if he sent all them for just us, whatcha think he's gonna do for the rally?" Jack points out. "We ain't gonna stand a chance."

"We can if we stand together," says David. "He might've won this time, but that's just the first fight. I've seen wars before, and the tides can change so fast. We've got every Fey kid that can get away gathering in one place. Hundreds of kids with something worth fighting for. If Pulitzer isn't scared of that, he's an idiot." His expression softens. "And we can't stop now, Jack. This is already going. If we stop now, you're leaving all those kids to fend for themselves. You'll be the quitter Spot said you are, and I know that's not true."

Jack exhales, head falling back against the wagon again. "Youse still betta at this speechin' thing," he says, the corner of his lips twitching up.

Something twists sharply in Davey's stomach, a sudden flash of guilt as he thinks about Jack's Knack and the terrible way that backfired on them in Jerna. He still hasn't told Jack about it, afraid that the human will only blame himself more for the way things turned out. How could they have known that his Knack would inspire not just the people who agreed with them but the ones _against_ them too?

David hastily schools his expression back under control, fixing the human with an amused smirk. "I'm not so sure about that."

"I dunno if I can do this," Jack says quietly, his expression one of pure vulnerability.

David recognizes the moment for what it is, the human opening up to him entirely, and he squeezes Jack's shoulders reassuringly. "That's okay, because I know you can," the star responds matter-of-factly. He settles down against Jack's side again, close enough that he can feel the constant heat of skin through his clothes. "I'll have enough faith for the both of us. You just focus on your thing."

Jack laughs, bumping his shoulder against David's. "This ain't just my thing, and ya know it," he says. "I'm just a blowhard; youse the brains. Couldn't do this without ya." He pauses, scratching distractedly at the strip of cloth knotted around one wrist. "I know it's been hard for ya, but I'm still kinda glad ya ended up here. That wrong of me?"

He might be able to bite back his smile, but Davey knows he's given away by the gentle shimmer in his skin that brightens up their hideaway for a second. "After a thousand lifetimes of watching things grow and change, I'm finally getting the chance to make something happen," he says. "I am able to be part of something real. Making life better for people, you know? It's like, for the first time in a very, very long time, I feel like I've got a purpose." He glances sideways at Jack and grins. "So I guess what I'm saying is, I'm glad I ended up here too."

The smile that Jack gives him in return is breathtaking, not the charismatic smile of a rebellion leader but something softer and more genuine. The one only Davey ever gets to see. Something warm blossoms in David's chest that he determinedly refuses to name; he thinks he knows, but the longer he goes without examining it, the longer he can delude himself. The longer he can pretend he hasn't already lost.

For now, he settles for jostling his shoulder into Jack's playfully until the human laughs. "Get some sleep, Dave," Jack says, folding his arms on top of his knees. "Ain't nobody gonna be out lookin' for us in this weather."

Davey can already feel exhaustion tugging at his eyelids from just the mention of sleep, and he lets his head sink onto Jack's shoulder. "I guess a nap couldn't hurt," he murmurs. Jack chuckles softly, shifting his position so that David's head settles more comfortably. The star hums and leans into the warmth of Jack's side. "It's kind of nice to get to sleep during the day for a change," he adds, lips quirking. And between the sound of the rain and Jack's quiet laugh, David falls asleep easier than he has in days. 

* * *

Jack tips his head back and breathes deeply, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. After storming through most of the morning, the rain finally gave way around midday and melted into a dazzling summer afternoon. The sun burns hot against his back, almost painful on the back of his neck, which is already red and flaking after so much time aboard the Brooklyn. It's nearly evening now, the sun hovering near the horizon, but even with the heat, everything still smells damp and fresh. He jumps over a puddle that's lingering in one of the road's deeper ruts and grins.

"Someone's in a better mood," Davey remarks dryly, but when Jack glances sideways, the star is smiling.

"How couldja not, sunshine like this?" Jack answers, shrugging. "Don't get it so good in the city, too much'a the buildings and smoke in the way. I like seein' the sky. Doncha like it?"

David chuckles. "Not used to seeing the sun so much, honestly," he says. "We usually run on different schedules." Jack snorts, giving the star an exasperated look. "But yeah, this is nice," David admits. "Warm."

"S'you always so cold?" Jack asks, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"Where I'm from, I'm not," Davey says with a dismissive hand gesture. "Everything is warmer down here. It's kind of nice, though. It makes things feel different. More alive, I guess." He copies Jack's posture, tipping his head back, and the sunlight causes little patches of pink and gold across his cheeks. At that moment, he looks so incredibly, impossibly _human_.

This observation stabs at something deep inside of Jack, an ache at the impending loss he'll eventually have to suffer. Jack has never been one for attachments, but Davey is somehow both the one thing he wants more than anything and the one thing he can't keep. His feelings go so far beyond the fascination and attraction that grabbed him at the start now. The star has swiftly become the best friend he's ever had, possibly ever _will_. He's so intrinsically a part of Jack's world now that he doesn't know how he survived before, and can't imagine going on without Davey at his side.

Except he knows that he can't ask the star to stay, no matter how badly he wants to; it's too dangerous, a terrifying risk to Davey's life that's a level of selfishness Jack can't justify. What's that thing Medda told him? When you love something, you've gotta be willing to let it go. So Jack knows that once this is all over, he's got to stand by his promise to get Davey home, where he'll be safe.

Even if doing it breaks his heart.

A noise catches Jack's attention, and he moves without thinking, hooking an arm around David's waist and dragging him down into the bushes on the side of the road. The star yelps in surprise as his back hits the ground and Jack hurries to cover his mouth, crouched over the star as he strains his ears. A second later, he hears it again, this time just on the other side of the hill: a whip crack, followed by a shrill whinny.

David's eyes widen in comprehension, and he nods. They both freeze, waiting with bated breath as the cart rolls down the road passed their hiding spot. Neither of them moves until the sound of the horses completely fades.

Jack exhales heavily, squinting toward the road through the leaves, and he feels like he can breathe again for the first time in minutes. "Sorry 'bout the landin'," he says. "Don't want people seein' ya, now words gettin' out."

"Aren't you ever tempted?"

Jack glances back down at the star, caught off guard by the sudden intensity in Davey's tone. The star is staring up at him, too-blue eyes through midnight lashes, and his lips are set in a loose frown. It suddenly occurs to Jack that he is straddling David's hips, their chests nearly touching as Jack leans in to keep his head below the brush-line. Davey's hands are resting against Jack's thighs and the points of contact burn like frostbite. Each breath brushes warm across his throat like a whisper.

All things considered, _temptation_ is pretty high on Jack's list of current feelings.

"Whatcha mean?" Jack asks, stalling to collect his thoughts.

"Immortality," David answers. "And the power."

The truth washes over Jack like a bucket of ice water. "And kill ya?" he asks, horrified.

Davey shrugs, but the faint glow sprinkles along his cheekbones again, like silver freckles. "Okay then, if it wasn't me," he says. "What if it was just some random star you didn't know? With that sort of power, you could make a real difference here. You'd have no problem winning this revolution and finding your brother."

"Well, yeah, but it ain't really winnin' if ya do it like that, is it?" Jack replies, raising an eyebrow. "Killin' folks for power, I ain't any betta than Pulitzer that way." Davey nods, conceding the point. "And when I find my brotha, I guess, I dunno, I wanna be someone he can be proud of, ya know? And I don't think murderer makes that list."

"Probably not," Davey agrees. "But I'm sure he'll be proud of you. I would be, if I were him." His smile fond as he squeezes Jack's leg reassuringly. The human resolutely ignores the leap of his stomach at the gesture.

Jack grins gratefully. "'Sides, livin' forever?" he continues, thoughtful. "I dunno, that just don't seem all that great ta' me. I mean, it'd be nice ta' get out and see all I wanna see, but it sounds kinda lonely, too. Guess maybe if I got someone with me, would be okay."

"Yeah," David agrees distractedly. "Yeah, I guess that's true."

Jack scrutinizes the star, struck by the sudden distance in his eyes. How long has Davey lived already? How many generations has he seen come and go? And how has the loneliness not killed him? Jack's chest aches at just the thought of outliving any of his new friends, but the star must have gone into it knowing, from the start, that he will inevitably outlast them _all_. The idea is paralyzing.

Pushing those thoughts away, Jack swallows hard. He needs to get away, needs the space to clear his head, because right now he wants nothing more than to pull the star against him and never let go. When he shifts his weight, intending to get up, Davey's eyes snap to focus on Jack's, and he licks his lips. A now-familiar heat springs to life in Jack's stomach, and he stumbles upright with an entirely different and far more awkward reason for putting space between them.

"C'mon, we should get movin'," Jack says, holding out a hand. Davey accepts his help, letting Jack pull him up through the bushes to stand on the roadside. Jack laughs when he sees a twig sticking out of Davey's hair, and he plucks it free, poking the star in the cheek with it to break the tension. David shoves him away in mock annoyance, and Jack immediately drags him back in, slinging an arm over his shoulders to steer him down the road. "So anyway, where was I?" he asks, clicking his tongue. "Oh yeah, the sunshine." 

* * *

"Wouldja stop it? That tappin' is makin' me jittery."

"Sorry," Davey says, forcing his hands to still. Walking next to him, Jack smirks in amusement. David stuffs his fists into his pockets to stop himself from picking up the anxious drumming he's been doing lately. He can't help himself. After two days of skirting along the edges of towns, they've been forced to turn back onto the more populated road that will take them to Wall. No one has given them trouble yet, beyond a few distrustful stares, but they've encountered more people in the last few hours than in the two days before that combined.

"We's fine, Davey," says Jack, nudging him with an elbow. "A'most there. Soon's we find a good place to hide, we'll bunk down a couple hours."

"Not what I'm worried about," the star counters, glancing over his shoulder.

Jack chuckles. "I know, me too. But gettin' all worked up ain't gonna help any. Folks gonna pay more 'ttention to ya if ya look guilty."

"I'm not guilty," David says indignantly. He looks sideways at Jack, who is walking casually with his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like he has no concerns. "How are you so calm?"

"Lotsa practice," he says, shrugging. "Ain't the first time I got folks lookin' for me."

Davey can't stop a small snort. "When you say things like that, it really makes me worry about the sort of company I keep."

"Says the fella carryin' a pirate sword," Jack retorts with a laugh, nodding to the scabbard belted around Davey's waist. The star finds he really doesn't have a good response to that. Jack grins. "Simple fact is, if ya don't look like youse got somethin' ta' hide, most times folks ain't gonna be bothered to look real hard. Not worth the effort, ya know?"

"Except every Bull and warlock in the kingdom is on the hunt for us," David points out. In his pocket, he starts drumming his fingers against his thighs. "And we're heading right for the place where we told them all we'd be going. It's hard not to get a little anxious about that."

Jack adjusts the cloth band on his wrist, picking at a loose thread. "Tell me 'bout the pyramids again," he says apropos nothing. Davey glances sideways, curious. "Or anythin', really. Figure if youse talkin', you'll be too distracted ta' get nervous. Just pick one'a them things you get all excited 'bout."

"I don't get _that_ invested in telling stories," Davey protests.

"Sure ya don't, Mouth," Jack says, smirking. Scowling, David socks him in the shoulder. "Ow, hey, I's just sayin'. Serious, though. It'll help pass the time, a'least, right? Tell me 'bout - hmm, not the pyramids. Oh, wait, what was that one you was tellin' Les the otha day? 'Bout the guy that could melt boulders."

"Genghis Khan?" David asks, raising an eyebrow. Jack makes a noise of agreement, grinning. "You don't need me to tell you about Genghis Khan, I'm sure you've heard of him."

Jack shrugs. "A little, sure, but you tell it betta. C'mon, please?" Davey rolls his eyes, giving an exasperated sigh, but he's smiling when he starts telling the story. Jack listens with the same childlike attentiveness Les had, eyes wide as he absorbs the exploits of the mad Mongol and his quest to build the largest empire in history. It doesn't take long before David loses himself in the storytelling, hands too busy shaping images to bother tapping.

Five miles down the road, Jack holds up a hand to stop Davey, his brow furrowed. They both recognize the sound of wheels at the same time, darting off the road and into the brush. Several yards from the path, they duck down into the plants to wait for the carriage to pass, just like they have every other time a cart or wagon has approached them.

The wheels jutter across the rough dirt road, the recent storm leaving the ruts deeper than usual. Horse hooves clatter loud against stones as the carriage draws even with them. Then, just as David's about to exhale in relief, the sounds change; grinding and crunching as horses huff in agitation, and the wagon stops.

Davey immediately trades panicked looks with Jack, his heart jumping into his throat. Jack shakes his head, gesturing for David to stay quiet. They hear a grunt and heavy steps. The star finds his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword instinctively, preparing for a fight. The steps come closer, falter, turn a little to the left. Davey's heart is hammering so hard against his ribs he feels sick to his stomach.

A sudden gust of wind flattens all of the grasses around them, leaving them crouched in a perfect circle of open space. There's a man in a dark suit standing in front of them, one hand splayed out in the air as he smirks down at them. "Hello there."

"We don't want no trouble," Jack says immediately, straightening up and lifting his chin. Davey stands, his hand tightening around his sword hilt. "Ya don't gotta start nothin'."

The man's gaze flicks down to the strips of cloth around Jack's wrists, and his eyebrow raises. "Looks like you've already been in a bit of trouble," he remarks. "What are you trying to hide there, son?"

"Look, nobody's hidin' nothin'," Jack says.

"We just want to go on our way," David adds, but the man doesn't so much as glance at him.

"Are you sure? Because usually when I see something like that, it's a runaway Fey trying to hide his marks," the man says, taking a step forward and turning over his extended hand. Davey draws his sword, holding it at the ready, but even this doesn't get the man's attention. He scowls, narrowed eyes flicking from his open palm to Jack.

"Okay, no, look," says Jack, holding out his hands placating. "I'll show ya, okay? No marks." He tugs at the cloth, pulling it down to show that his skin underneath is unblemished. "No Fey here, a'right?" Jack says. "Just travelin'. So, we good?"

The man's eyes coast over Jack appraisingly - still ignoring David entirely - and then he pauses. "What's that you've got there?"

Jack looks down when the man points to his chest, frowning. "Nothin'. Oh, this?" He taps the little white flower that's pinned to his shirt pocket, somehow still maintaining its perfect shape despite all they've been through. "S'just a flower. A friend gave it to me."

"It's a pretty trinket," the man says. "You don't see flowers like that in this part of the kingdom anymore." He strokes his mustache, seeming to consider, and then smiles. "How about we make a deal, son? You give me that flower, I'll keep going like I never saw you."

"Jack, I don't know about this," Davey says, staring the man down. There's something about him, a strange chill that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Something feels wrong." 

"S'fine," Jack says, shaking his head. "Just a flower, right? Don't worry 'bout it."

"Exactly," the man agrees.

"Jack, _wait_ -!" David says, but it's too late.

Jack steps forward, dropping the flower into the man's extended palm. He takes two quick steps back as the man grins and closes his hand around the bulb. "Do you know what this flower is?" the man asks, lifting an eyebrow.

Licking his lips, Jack shrugs. "A lucky charm or somethin', right?"

"Charm indeed," the man says, holding it up between two fingers so that the snow-white petals catch the sunlight. "This nifty little flower is precisely the sort of thing that would stop me doing this." With a wicked grin, the man swipes a hand through the air.

In a gush of black smoke, Jack disappears. 

* * *

Crutchie generally tries not to complain about his lot in life. Sure, things might not be great, but they could always be worse, and he tries to remind himself of that. Of course, that's a little harder to remember when he's going on his third straight day as a scruffy terrier stuck in a kennel and Snyder is still showing no signs of turning him back yet.

The wagon abruptly stops on the road and Crutchie stumbles, his hip colliding with one of the bars painfully. Huffing, he lays down and settles his head on his front paws to wait. There's only one thing that ever makes Snyder stop the carriage like that; one of his detection charms has picked up a Fey nearby.

Scratching his ear, Crutchie grunts and stretches. He doesn't even really mind being a dog most times, honestly. After all, having a crippled leg is much less of a burden when you've got three more to help out, as opposed to only the one human one. It'd be nice to get the chance to run around a bit, but he's learned not to be picky at this point.

No, the bit that's got him nervous this time is that he's scared Snyder's run out of use for him. And there's no place in Stormhold for a Fey with no use.

"What are you doing? Put him _down_!"

The shout startles Crutchie, and he cocks his head as the voice draws closer, lifting an ear to hear better. He can recognize Snyder's gait, the warlock muttering to himself, but there's someone else following him and cursing him out quite creatively. The door at the back of the wagon opens, and Snyder steps in, carrying a wriggling brown jackrabbit by the scruff. He opens a cage and tosses the rabbit inside, and then seals the latch with a twist of his hand.

Crutchie's attention, however, is on the figure in the doorway. A boy is standing there, sword drawn and face flushed with anger, as he shouts at Snyder's back. "Whatever you did to him, you better fix it!" the boy snarls. "Stop ignoring me!"

Snyder gives no indication that he's even aware of the boy's existence. He pulls a glossy white flower from his pocket, and Crutchie's been with the warlock long enough to recognize a magic charm when he sees it. Snowdrop flowers are extraordinarily powerful, a nearly unbreakable protection from magic and cure for most curses. Snyder deposits the flower in his trunk and turns to leave the wagon.

"Why won't you listen?!" the boy in the doorway shouts frantically. "Can't you see me?" Snyder steps passed him without so much as a glance. The boy lunges with his sword, but the blade glances aside like there's an invisible barrier around the warlock. Cursing, the boy swings a punch, but it is also knocked aside before he can reach. Crutchie can't stop his brow from raising in surprise.

Snyder moves to shut the back of the wagon, and the boy bolts inside before the door closes. Lingering awkwardly just inside of the door, the boy looks down at his hands in confusion. "What's happening to me? Am I invisible or something?"

Curious, Crutchie barks softly to get the boy's attention. He's pale and dark-haired, and although he doesn't look much older than Crutchie, there's something in his startlingly blue gaze that feels so much heavier. He bites his lip as he looks down at the kennel, and then he cracks the smallest of smiles. Sheathing his sword, he walks over and crouches in front of the cage. "Well, at least I still exist to someone," he says with a half-hysterical chuckle.

When the boy sticks his hand between the kennel bars, Crutchie nudges his fingers, and he's not too proud to admit he leans into the touch when the boy scratches his ears. He never can quite get that spot behind his right ear, with that leg useless as it is. The wagon lurches as it takes off again and the boy stumbles, catching himself against the cage. "Sorry," he mutters in Crutchie's direction, which would've made him laugh if he was capable of it at the moment. Most people don't even offer him that much consideration when he's a human, let alone a mutt.

"Great, so this is just great," the boy says to himself, starting to pace a line down the short length of the wagon. He drags a wrist over his eyes, rubbing away the tears of frustration. Crutchie's eyes catch on the woven bands around his wrists curiously; they are leather instead of cloth, but they look a lot like the kind his old bunkmates from the Refuge had taught him to make, the sort that he wears beneath his cuffs to stop chafing. "So apparently it's just that guy who can't see or hear me."

The answer hits Crutchie all at once, and he sits up, gazing up at the boy in shock. The curse that Pulitzer placed on Snyder after he was caught eavesdropping at the Keep: _"You can search from one end of the world to the other, but you will never find the star. You will not see it, hear it, or feel it, even if it's standing right in front of you."_ Crutchie could almost die from the irony of it; turns out Snyder found the star without even trying.

The star paces in the wagon for several miles, murmuring to himself, and Crutchie watches him curiously. He's never met a star before, and it's strange just how normal he looks. The star keeps at it until a particularly deep rut in the road jars the wagon and he loses his footing again. With a sigh, the star sits down heavily on the patch of floor next to the rabbit's cage.

"It's _fine_ , Davey," the star drawls acerbically in the rabbit's direction. "Don't _worry_ about it, Davey. He just wants the flower. How can that _possibly_ go wrong, Davey?" He snorts derisively. "This is why you're supposed to listen to me, you idiot. I told you there was something off about him, but you didn't listen. Now I'm invisible, and you're a rabbit."

The star - who Crutchie is assuming from the sarcastic, one-sided conversation is called Davey - reaches through the bars to stroke the rabbit's forehead. "Although I have to say, you're kind of cute as a rabbit," he admits, grinning. "And far less annoying. Might not be a bad idea to leave you this way for a while."

The rabbit flinches away from his touch, shuffling to the other end of the cage. Davey laughs. "Oh, did I hurt your feelings?" he asks, amused. "You're a rabbit. Can you even understand me? Give me a sign if you can understand me."

Crutchie watches in confusion as the rabbit twitches its ears but otherwise doesn't move. He knows that people can still understand while transformed - he should, he's spent enough time like that himself - but the other doesn't seem to be making an effort to show that. After a second, the rabbit bounces over to the side of the cage and sniffs at the box next to it; the vegetable pantry. The star gets up on his knees to peer inside curiously. "Oh, of course, you want food," he says dryly. Davey pulls out a knobby carrot and wedges it through the bars, where the rabbit tugs it closer and starts gnawing eagerly.

"Skies, Jack, this is ridiculous," Davey the star says, slumping back against the pantry box wearily. This time, Crutchie's interest is peaked for a whole other reason; _Jack_. He was so distracted by the anomaly of the invisible star that he forgot about the rumors he'd heard in Jerna, about the Fey boy and the star who had escaped Weasel and are now leading a revolution. Stars above, what are the chances _that_ is the Fey Snyder would stumble across on some back road?

So much for their rebellion...

Davey keeps talking, unaware that he's shaken Crutchie's reality. "You make fun of me for talking so much," the star says with a quirk of his lips, "but honestly, there's no one I've ever felt like I could talk to the way I can with you. There's no one else I want to talk to like this. And since you're currently a rabbit who can't understand me, now seems like a good time to get this all off my chest.

"You know, my life has been absolute insanity since the moment I landed in this stupid place. Evil warlocks and idiot humans crashing into me and sky pirates and brawling with Bulls and this whole revolution. It's all so much, and I should want nothing more than to run as far away from it as I can. And I did, in the beginning. But now? I don't know when it happened, but honestly, the thought of going home now is terrifying."

The admission seems to leave the star momentarily breathless, and Crutchie drops his head onto his paws, awed by the open emotion on the boy's face. Davey takes a deep, shaking breath before he continues. "Remember when I told you that I missed the feeling of belonging that comes with being a star? That connection we all have with each other? Well honestly, I still never really felt like I belonged there. I thought I did, but then I came here, and I met you and Katherine and the guys on the Brooklyn. And for the first time in my very long life, I finally feel like I belong someplace. Like my existence matters. Like _I_ matter to someone."

If Crutchie hadn't known it before, now it would've been self-evident that Davey is a star; a delicate shimmer has lit beneath his skin, turning him a pale silver-white and illuminating the inside of the wagon in a beautiful glow.

"And then you, you and all your stupid plans for running away to find some mythical utopia. All you ever talk about is getting away so you can matter, without realizing that you already do. You matter to Katherine and Les and all the other fellas on the Brooklyn. You matter to all these Fey kids that you're inspiring to take back their freedom. And skies above, you matter to _me_."

Crutchie knows that he's intruding on something incredibly personal, but there's no way to make himself scarce. Not to mention he's reasonably sure that Jack the rabbit fully understands everything that Davey the star thinks he's not. Crutchie is just considering barking and causing some sort of commotion to interrupt this moment when the star groans loudly and tosses the shredded bit of straw he's been fidgeting with across the wagon.

"I don't know how it happened," Davey says, and there's such conviction in his voice. He drags a hand through his hair, making it stand on end, and then combs it back down in irritation. "You're frustrating and capricious, and you're braver than you know what to do with. You have all these huge dreams and plans that you're too scared to actually follow through on, and it's ridiculous because you're worth so much _more_ than that. You drive me absolutely, completely insane, and damn it all if you didn't go and make me fall in love with you anyway, Jack Kelly."

The name hits Crutchie like a physical blow, and he's on his feet before he even realizes. He doesn't even notice that he's barking until Davey shushes him, but he can't help himself. Jack Kelly; the phantom name that's been haunting him his entire life, a ghostly remnant from his childhood memories. He was really starting to think that he'd never hear that name again, that he was deluding himself with his fairy tales about his older brother coming back from the other side of the Wall to find him, but he's _here_. His brother is right there, only feet away, and Crutchie has no way to tell him.

"Hey, down boy," the star says, and his tone is reassuring, but his eyes are scared as he glances toward the front of the wagon. Crutchie immediately feels his excitement deflate. Snyder. Snyder is taking Jack to the Refuge, to become another one of the countless Fey slaves in Stormhold. Or worse, so much worse, if Snyder has any idea that he's the one leading the Fey uprising. The king will want to make an _example_ of him.

Davey the star has moved back to his original spot, resting his chin on his folded arms to stare down at the rabbit. "So there you have it," he finishes his thought wearily. "I don't want to go home anymore. I don't care if it's dangerous to be here. I can't stand the thought of going back to that, to being just one more star in a sky full of billions, no different than anyone else. I want to stay on earth, but more than anything, I want to stay with you.

"I know you might not love me the way I love you. I know things are different where you're from, and it's not proper, but I don't care. That's okay too. I would rather be just your best friend for the rest of your life than not have you in it at all. You were right; living forever isn't worth it if you have to do it alone, and I can't bear to do that anymore. So we'll do this instead. We'll free the kids of Stormhold, and we'll find your brother, and then, whether it's here or New York or Santa Fe, I'm with you, for as long as you'll have me."

Crutchie's mind is reeling, the star's confession gliding over the surface as he shuffles in his cage, trying to think of some solution. He needs to get Jack out of here. That's the number one priority. Well, Jack _and_ Davey, because while Snyder can't see him, if they make it as far as the Refuge, there are plenty of other warlocks there who'd be all too happy to deliver the star to the king. But how?

Bouncing on his front legs, Crutchie barks to get the star's attention. Davey looks over curiously, and Crutchie immediately turns to the side of his cage, scratching through the bars at the corner he can reach of Snyder's trunk. "What's the matter, pal?" Davey asks. "You hungry too?"

Davey walks over and opens the trunk, apparently thinking it's another pantry box, but he falters when he sees the assortment of potions and charms inside. There, on top of it all, the snowdrop flower is sitting exactly where Snyder dropped it. "Hey, that's Jack's flower," the star says, surprised, and when he picks it up, Crutchie howls.

 _Please understand_ , Crutchie wishes desperately, watching Davey glance from the flower to Crutchie and back. _Please understand what I'm tryna tell you_.

"This flower," Davey says, and he sounds like he's thinking aloud as he twirls the stem between long fingers, "it's what stopped Snyder from being able to transform him. Which means that maybe there's a chance this flower can turn him back, too."

Crutchie barks eagerly and Davey looks at him in amazement. "Why do I get the feeling you're doing that on purpose?" he says, head cocked to the side as he surveys Crutchie with those too-blue eyes. "That you wanted me to find this? You're not actually a dog, are you? He did the same thing to you that he did to Jack. Skies, you're a Fey, aren't you?"

Davey's gaze darts to the few other cages inside the wagon that are occupied; the lizard-girl that was arrested in Quarterway, the shaggy cat-boy that was nabbed just after Jerna, the sleeping rat-boy who has been trapped in here since Tryb. "This is how he does it," the star concludes, his expression twisted with horror. "He turns them into animals so they're easier to get to the Refuge." Crutchie has barely been able to keep up with the lightning-fast string of questions, but he yips an agreement to let him know he's on the right track, and from another cage, the cat-boy yowls pitifully.

Davey is silent for a long moment, staring at the flower in his hand. "If this can help Jack, then surely it can help you too," he says thoughtfully. Crutchie balks, shaking his head so hard his ears flap against his skull; no, he can't let them waste this chance on him. He can't make a difference out there, but Jack and Davey have started something real. Something that will help so many people. The star is still watching him through narrowed eyes. "Why are you helping us?"

There's no way for Crutchie to answer that, and Davey seems to realize it too because he makes a frustrated noise. Still, something softens in his gaze, and he kneels down in front of Crutchie's cage. "Look, I don't know how much of this you're understanding, but thank you," the star says. "Jack and I, we're trying to change things here. We're going to make it safe for Fey like you. And I won't forget this, I promise. We'll come back for you, okay? Soon as we can, we'll track you down and get you out of here. I swear it."

Crutchie whines softly and nudges the fingers that are offered through the bars, and Davey nods resolutely as he tucks the flower into his pocket. The star heads back to the rabbit's cage and draws his sword, wedging the blade into the latch. Crutchie holds his breath as he watches Davey working, carefully maneuvering to pry the lock open, but the progress is so slow. Then a piece bends and makes the sword slip, filling the wagon with the sharp shriek of metal on metal, and they all freeze.

"What are you doing, you stupid mutt?!" Snyder shouts from the front, and Crutchie's stomach lurches when he feels the wagon begin to slow. His magic doesn't obey him very well on the best of days, and he's never tried to do much while a dog, but he has to do this. His brother's depending on him.

Closing his eyes, Crutchie focuses everything on the latch of the cage door. The sparks flare inside of him, sporadic and thready like embers in a tornado, but he grabs onto them with everything he has and _shoves_. It burns through him, electric and hot, as the iron punishes him for disobeying. The magic ignites the hex marks in his leg and pain tries to pull his attention in a million different directions until he finally loses his tenuous grasp on the magic with a yelp.

When he opens his eyes - and wow, he's laying down, when did that happen? - it's to see Davey prying open the warped remains of the cage door and scooping the rabbit into his arms. He tucks his waistcoat around the rabbit, clutching it tighter to his chest, and pauses at the back of the wagon. "Thank you, for everything," Davey says to Crutchie, gratitude bright in his face. "And I'll come back, I promise." Crutchie barks once, acknowledging and urging him on, and then the star throws open the wagon door and jumps out. 

* * *

 

David doesn't know how long he's been running when he finally has to stop to catch his breath, but he's well away from the road where they left the wagon. He leans against a tree, gasping for air, and listens for any sound of the warlock chasing after him. After several minutes of nothing but the noises of the forest, he sighs in relief. It seems they've escaped notice for the time being. One benefit to being invisible to a person, Davey supposes.

With no better ideas, Davey keeps walking further into the woods. He's heading south, getting as far from the old road as possible and hoping they stumble across a new path that will lead them toward Wall. It's only a half mile further when he finds a stream that cuts through the trees, and he stops gratefully. In his experience, if one follows water long enough, it always leads to people. Civilization always forms around water sources.

It's a welcome relief to stop, not just because he's tired from running, but Jack the rabbit is getting fidgety clutched against his chest, and he's got sharp claws. Davey doesn't dare loosen his grip, afraid he might take off, so he hunkers down against a tree at the edge of the water. Digging the little white flower from his pocket, the star holds it up and takes a deep breath. "Here goes nothing."

Unsure where to start and feeling stupid, David taps the flower against the rabbit, hoping that just contact is enough. When that doesn't work, he rubs it gently against the rabbit's head, but that just makes it squirm. He's trying to decide what to do next when the rabbit lurches forward and eats the flower straight from his fingers. "Wait!" Davey yelps in a panic, but the flower is already gone.

A flash of white smoke engulfs them both, and David can feel the exponential increase of weight against his body as the shape in his arms grows. When the mist clears, Jack Kelly is sprawled across his lap, eyes expression dazed. "Jack!" Davey gasps gratefully. He cups the side of the human's head, and the touch seems to focus him, gaze narrowing in on David a little.

"Ch'rl?"

Davey blinks in confusion. "Who?" he asks, but Jack's eyes have gone lax again. It's obvious that Jack's head is still scrambled, so David really shouldn't hold anything against him, but he can't stop the small sting of rejection taking root. He doesn't know what Jack was trying to say, who he was asking for with such a hopeful lilt, but he didn't seem to recognize David, and that hurts a little.

Easing Jack into a sitting position, Davey drags one of the human's arms over his shoulders. "C'mon, let's find a better place to camp for the night," he says, awkwardly heaving Jack to his feet; while David is taller, Jack is far more muscular. "We should find you a safe place to sleep this off so we can get to Wall before the rally."

It's difficult work getting Jack to keep moving while he's barely conscious. The human is stumbling into David's side the entire time, losing his footing on the uneven terrain. Davey keeps him going as well as he can, murmuring encouragements as they follow the water downstream. He's sweating with exertion by the time the trees part, forming a clearing, and the stream broadens out into a pond.

Finding a stretch of open grass, David lowers the human down before collapsing unceremoniously next to him. "You're heavy," he remarks breathlessly, but Jack is already unconscious again. Snorting, Davey sits up and looks around their little camp spot. The trees form a protective barrier around them, and the grass is thick and lush around the edges of the pond. It's getting dark now, and through a gap in the leaves overhead, he can see a stretch of violet-red sky.

David takes a minute to make sure that Jack is comfortable before he scoots closer to the water. It's cold on his hands as he drinks, cool even in comparison to his skin. Still, it's refreshing, and it feels great to wash the grit from his hands. In fact, he wouldn't say no to being clean for once, his skin and clothes caked in days' worth of sweat and dust.

Biting his lip, Davey casts one quick glance back to make sure Jack is still asleep and then starts undressing. He carefully folds and piles his clothes, and steps into the water. It bites at his ankles, and he gasps as he breaks out in gooseflesh. He pushes on through the chill until he can finally take a deep breath and plunge into the deeper water at the center of the pond.

His muscles freeze up for a brief second, reacting to the shock of the cold water, but then he kicks up to the surface. As he scrubs his hands over his skin, he can feel the layer of grime flaking away, and he cards his hands through his hair to rinse that as well. He exhales slowly, letting his head fall back as he treads water, and his gaze slides up to the patch of sky overhead.

Home, so very far away, and it's going to stay that way. He's made his decision. He stares up at the infinitesimal white specks and hopes that his siblings will understand. He can't say for sure where he's going from here, doesn't know when he'll be able to bring himself to actually confront Jack with his feelings, but he's content for now. He's broken the one rule of stars; he's given away his heart. Whether Jack will accept it or not, when the time comes, there's no turning back for Davey now.

His head is racing with a million things, each of them fighting to be the center of attention, but David pushes them all away. Now isn't the time to worry about the Fey's revolution, or warlocks that want to kill him, or even the insufferable idiot sleeping on the beach that's turned his life inside out. For the first time in forever, Davey wants to not think. He floats, listening to the gentle hum of the forest around him, and fades off.

"Jesus, that water's cold!"

Davey jolts back to reality with a yelp, spitting out a mouthful of water when he accidentally splashes himself as he flails. Jack has retreated to the edge of the pond, his pant legs rolled up to the knee and bared feet wet as he shuffles on the grass. Abruptly remembering that he's undressed, David twists his body beneath the water and draws his legs up toward his chest, trying to preserve his modesty. "Could you turn around?" he asks weakly.

Jack is still grinning, but he holds up his hands in surrender. "Was gonna join ya, but it's cold," he says, turning his back. "How's you not frozen?"

"I told you, I'm just naturally colder than you," the star says. "It doesn't feel as cold to me." David waits until he sure the human's facing away before he swims to the edge and climbs out. He isn't sure how long he was zoned out, but it was enough time for the sky overhead to shift from bright violet to black. Shivering against the cold, he wipes the moisture from his skin as best as he can. "You feeling better?" David asks as he tugs on his trousers, fighting against the wool where it clings to his damp legs.

"Yeah," Jack answers. "Thanks for lookin' out for me." A hand brushes the back of his shoulder, and David spins around in surprise. Jack is standing just within arm's reach, and even in the dim light, there's no mistaking the way the human's gaze coasts across Davey's exposed stomach and chest. David feels a hot flush climb the back of his neck as he folds his arms protectively, retreating into himself.

"Davey," Jack says, and there's suddenly a whole new kind of significance behind the two syllables that sends a shiver down David's spine, "did ya mean it? Whatcha said in the wagon?"

It takes a second for the question to sink in, and then Davey's eyes shoot up to Jack's face in horror. "What? But - you were a _rabbit_. You wanted carrots!"

"I was hungry," Jack says, shrugging, but his smile is playful.

"I told you to give me a sign if you could understand me," David counters.

Jack laughs. "I was a _rabbit_ ," he reminds him dryly. "What was I s'posed to do? Tap dance?" The blush has spread up into David's cheeks and ears, and he buries his face in his hands to hide his embarrassment. Jack's calloused palms are gentle on Davey's bare shoulders, but the touch still burns straight through him like wildfire. "Hey, 'sides, thought ya knew, I like listenin' to ya talk," he says. "'Specially when youse sayin' stuff like that."

This is enough to tempt Davey to peer between his fingers, fighting against the hope rising in his chest at Jack's words. The human smiles, the same teasing, cock-sure grin he always wears, but his eyes are soft and affectionate. Jack moves a hand to David's chin, lifting his face free from behind the cage of his fingers. "You never said," Davey murmurs self-consciously.

"Neitha did you," Jack retorts. He lets out a breath and brushes a thumb across Davey's cheekbone, the gesture almost heartbreakingly tender. "Thing is, I never believed in all that love at first sight, sappy romance stuff. But first time I saw you, Davey, I just-" He makes a hopeless noise when he can't seem to find the words. "But I didn't wanna say nothin', 'cause I knew you was leavin' and so was I. And then we got wrapped up in all this stuff here and now I'm scared tomorrow's gonna come and change ev'rythin'."

"Of course it is." The response clearly startles Jack, and he frowns, making to pull away. Davey grabs his hands, threading their fingers together to stop him. "We're doing something that's never been done before," he continues deliberately. "We're literally trying to _change the world_. Of course it's going to be dangerous, and of course it's going to change things. But that doesn't mean it has to change _us_ , does it?"

Jack's expression softens. "I just - I wish there was a way to make time stop," he says. "Keep this moment, so's I can keep lookin' at ya. Ya know how pretty you is in the moonlight?" His eyes scour over Davey's face, those artist's eyes drinking in every minuscule detail like he's committing it to memory, and the star blushes under the scrutiny. "But I can't - look, I know guys like me don't get ta' be happy like this. It ain't easy and it ain't proper, and back home, it ain't even legal. And it still ain't safe for ya here, dunno if it's ever gonna be, even if we win this thing."

"We'll make it work," David says resolutely. "We can figure this out. Together."

"I want this, Dave," Jack says, a tremulous edge to his voice. "Want this ta' be real so bad, can't even imagine not havin' ya no more. But I gotta know, fo'sure, 'cause I don't think I can take it if ya promise me somethin' that youse just gonna take back later."

The hesitation and fear in Jack's voice make Davey want to cry. This poor boy who's never had anything permanent in his life, who's never been given any reason to believe that he can keep something good. "I'm a star," David starts, making sure he has Jack's full attention before he continues. "We live a very long time, so we don't make promises often because then we're held to it for millennia. But I am about to make you the second promise I've ever made in my life; wherever you go and as long as you'll have me, Jack, I'm with you."

Something sparks, bright as moonlight, in Jack's dark eyes, and in the very next breath, he drags Davey into a kiss. It's messy and frantic, a clash of teeth and tongue as they struggle to find something that works, but it's still the best feeling David has ever experienced. One of Jack's hands slides up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangled in hair, and as he tilts his head to get better access, something finally slots into place perfectly. Davey moans, grabbing onto Jack's shoulder to pull him closer, chasing after the dizzying heat of his body.

They finally break apart only because they need air, and Jack rests his forehead against Davey's. The star curls his fingers into Jack's shirt, keeping him close, and Jack's arms settle across his back, the lines of warmth abruptly reminding him that he's still only wearing his pants. When David opens his eyes, he can see the glow of his starlight reflected in Jack's eyes, and he smiles.

"In case I ain't made it clear," Jack says, grin mischievous again, "that was me takin' ya up on that deal."

Davey laughs, his shine momentarily illuminating the entire clearing, and kisses him again. "I definitely prefer this to the handshake thing."

"Mmm, me too," Jack agrees, smirking. He splays a hand against the small of David's back, and the star melts into the warmth of it. "In fact, I's thinkin' we should do it s'more. _Lots_ more, ach'lly." Davey's laugh is swallowed by Jack's lips as the human tugs him in again.


	7. All for One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this chapter a week earlier than planned because you guys have been so incredibly awesome in your comments. We're actually starting to gear up toward the finale here, guys. I've written up into Act 9 so far, and I think we're looking at about 10 chapters total. 
> 
> Also, remember how last chapter was supposed to be the "fluff before the storm?" Welcome to The Storm. 
> 
> **Trigger warning: implied torture tag is no longer so "implied" as of this chapter. As always, message me for a redacted version or a summary if that's something that might bother you.

Jack wakes slowly, a gradual awareness that comes back to him in pieces. Everything around him is unfamiliar, from the smell of damp earth and grass to the pressure of something cool and steady huddled against his chest, but he feels more content than he has in ages. It also occurs to him, as he yawns and lazily stretches his spine, that this is the first time in days he hasn't been woken by a nightmare. He shifts to stretching out his shoulders, but the movement provokes a sleepy protest and thin fingers tightening around his wrist to stop his arm from going anywhere.

Grinning to himself, Jack opens his eyes and is met by a soft silvery glow. David is curled on his side, back pressed into the human's chest, and he is using one of Jack's arms as a pillow and hugging the other against his abdomen. He seems to still be asleep, the faint shimmer beneath his skin an unconscious reaction, and that makes Jack smile wider. It's still early, the sky above the clearing just barely starting to shift toward lighter blues, and Jack lets himself savor the moment a little longer.

Because Davey loves him.

The idea feels different in the light of day, somehow, more tangible and secure. When he thinks back to the night before, the memories come with the strange, ephemeral quality of a dream, a string of still-shots and impressions that are connected by loose threads. Daylight washes that away, the sight of David in his arms solidifying his thoughts into something he can process and examine.

Of course, as the reality of it all sets in, Jack finds that his giddiness is followed by a thin, undercurrent of fear.

There's no escaping the fact that the path ahead of them is uncertain, even beyond the immediate turmoil of the Fey rebellion; the star's life will be at risk if they stay in Stormhold, but if they go back to the other side of Wall, they can't be together like this. Jack always operates best when he's got a plan, but there's no planning for this. Too many questions and too many unknowns, each of which is just another chance of heartbreak in hiding.

Then Davey sighs in his sleep, turning his head to burrow his face into Jack's bicep, and all of those concerns retreat to the back of his mind. Wrapping his arm more securely around the star's chest, Jack rests his forehead against the back of Davey's skull and closes his eyes. The star smells like a blend of the cold pond water, worn cotton, and that vaguely metallic scent that is distinctly _him_. Beneath his palm, Jack can feel the steady thrum of the star's heartbeat, slow with sleep. The world is still and quiet and at peace, nothing intruding on the fragile beauty of this singular moment.

Jack doesn't notice that he's drifted off again until he wakes with a shiver. His shirt - which has been draped over them both like a blanket - has slid down and bared his shoulder to the crisp morning air. When Jack tries to extract his arm from David's grip to pull the shirt back into place, the star groans blearily and tightens his grip. Jack bites back a chuckle. "M'just tryna fix the blanket," he whispers, pointedly trying to free his hand again with no success. "C'mon, Dave, s'cold."

" _Nngh_ , you're warm," Davey mumbles back, arching himself back into Jack's chest like a cat. The human coughs awkwardly when this brings a different morning complication to his attention, and he attempts to shift his hips into a more comfortable position.

"Only warm ta' you, 'member?" Jack says, laughing. He shrugs his arm, hoping to nudge the shirt back into place somehow, but it only makes it slide further down. He huffs hopelessly.

David seems to be waking up properly now, and he tips his head in the other direction to glance back at Jack in his peripherals. When their eyes meet, Davey smiles and his glow brightens. Jack's heart lurches in response. "Morning," David says, blinking sleepily.

"Yeah, it is," Jack agrees, smirking. Davey snorts in amusement. The star rolls over onto his back so he can see better, still clutching Jack's hand against his chest, and Jack can't help but stare. His dark hair is tousled, sticking up in odd shapes from falling asleep with it still damp, and the one side of his face is flushed pink from where it was pressed against Jack's arm all night. There's a speck of sleep dust in the corner of one drowsy blue eye, a streak of dirt on the side of his nose, and in only his undershirt, it's clearly visible how pale and skinny he is.

"Youse so beautiful," Jack says without thinking and is rewarded with watching the way the star's cheeks turn a silver-flecked pink in a blend of pleasure and embarrassment. "But I really am gettin' cold."

"Hmm? Oh, right," Davey says, laughing breathlessly. He reaches up with his free hand to pull the shirt back over Jack's shoulder and then his touch lingers at the side of the human's neck. When Jack shivers this time, it's not the cold. "We should get moving soon," David says grudgingly. "We don't know how far we still have to go until we get to Wall."

Jack grunts, wrinkling his nose. "Five more minutes," he counters and leans down to kiss the grin off David's face. The star responds enthusiastically, fingertips digging into the side of Jack's neck to pull him closer. It's only a minute or so later when Jack breaks the kiss, breathing heavily. "A'right, neva mind, five minutes'a that and we ain't gonna be goin' nowhere today. Think I'm a'ready gonna need to hop in that cold water 'fore we go anywhere."

"Wha-  _oh_!" The wide-eyed surprise on Davey's face is adorably innocent, and he bites his lip, which does nothing to help Jack's current predicament.

It's an exercise in willpower when Jack, groaning, forces himself to pull away from the star and sit up. David chuckles, sitting up and scrubbing his hands drowsily over his face. Jack brushes the stray grass blades from his arms before tugging on his shirt, and next to him, Davey retrieves his balled-up shirt from where Jack was using it as a pillow.

The star abruptly yelps, and Jack turns to find him bent awkwardly over, hands clamped around his thigh. "Davey?" Jack asks uncertainly.

David hisses through his teeth. "My leg's asleep."

"You-" Jack breaks off with a laugh, the tension rushing out of him all at once. As he starts giggling, the star squints up at him, frowning, which only makes him laugh harder. "Don't gimme that look," Jack says, turning his attention back to his shirt buttons. "Ya scared me. Thought you was dyin' or somethin'."

"It hurts," Davey counters pitifully, but the corner of his mouth has turned up. He sits up, massaging his thigh as he tries to coax life back into the numbed limb. "There are really parts of humanity that are just terrible," he adds when some of the pain has left his face. "I mean truly, there's just no reason for some of this madness."

Jack laughs, shaking his head. "All the things in the world, and youse gettin' huffy 'bout your leg fallin' sleep," he remarks in amusement. He licks his lips, a lingering anxiety creeping forward, and he pulls on a forced casualness to ask, "That leg givin' ya second thoughts 'bout stayin', then?"

David, unsurprisingly, isn't fooled by his attempt at a joke. His gaze is steady when he meets Jack's eyes. "Not in the least." Jack can't stop the small smile that creeps across his face, and Davey instinctively mirrors it. The moment hangs for a second, a tenuous hum of something new and electric, before the star clears his throat. "No, I'm still set on that," he says. "This thing, however, might have to go."

From his pocket, he draws out a bulky diamond on a gold chain. Jack's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Ain't that the-?"

"Necklace that knocked me out of the sky?" Davey finishes for him, scrunching his nose at the pendant. "Yeah."

"Didn't know you was still carryin' that," Jack admits. " _Why_ you still carryin' it?"

David shrugs. "Habit, mostly," he says. He coils the chain up again, tucking the necklace back into his pocket. "I figured it must be important, something that powerful, even if I don't know exactly what it is. It just seemed safer to keep it with me, you know? Then I just sort of forgot about it. I definitely won't make that mistake again."

"Yeah, you don't wanna have stuff in your pockets when ya sleep on the ground," Jack says with a knowing nod.

"Now he tells me," Davey mutters, rolling his eyes. Shaking the wrinkles out of his shirt, he pulls it on and grabs his waistcoat. "Alright, ready to go? We've got a revolution to win."

* * *

The road they've found is deserted, nothing more than a narrow dirt path barely wide enough for a single cart. Still, it seems to be carrying them in the right direction, so they've decided to stick to it for the time being. There are tracks and ruts in the dirt from wagons, which Jack says is a sure indication that it will lead to a town soon enough. David is content enough to keep walking, just the two of them alone among the trees, just like when they first met all of two weeks ago.

Two weeks. It's hard to believe that so much can change in such a short time.

Jack bumps his elbow against Davey's, laughing. "Ain't never thought I'd have ta' say this to someone, but you gotta be less happy," he says, but the comment is undercut by his own pleased grin. "Youse gonna give us away if anyone sees ya glitterin' like that."

"Am I?" David asks, surprised. He holds his hands out in front of him; it isn't as noticeable in the daylight, but there is a definite silvery sheen to his skin. "I didn't even know I was doing it," he admits, blushing, and he hastily jams his hands into his pockets. "It just happens."

"Yeah, I figured," Jack says. "Gonna have ta' distract ya 'fore we get ta' town. Don't want anyone lookin' too close, 'specially not if they got a warlock around. Already gonna be headin' into enough trouble as it is."

That manages to put a small damper on Davey's giddiness, and he swallows hard. It's so easy to forget, out here in the middle of nowhere with Jack, that they are walking toward a war. "I think we can assume there are going to be warlocks," he says. "Especially once we get to Wall. I'm fairly certain that's where the warlock from yesterday was headed."

"Pro'lly," Jack agrees grimly. "If youse right 'bout him bein' some sorta Fey hunter, that'd make sense. Hope he ain't found any more kids on his way. Least once they get ta' Wall, they ain't out on their own and easy to nab."

"We'll get them out if he did," David says resolutely. "We'll find that wagon and we'll save any kids he's got trapped in there, and we'll find a way to turn them back." His thoughts drift to the small dog that had helped him rescue Jack, the one who seemed to sacrifice their own freedom to help them. Davey wishes there's more he could've done, maybe found a way to bring the dog as well, but they had been too pressed for time. It doesn't stop his guilt.

Jack pulls him from his anxious thoughts by draping an arm around the star's shoulders. "We'll find 'em," he says reassuringly. "Just like ya promised." David feels something in his chest stutter at that; after centuries of never making promises, he made two in a matter of hours. Humanity is doing strange things to him. "'Sides," Jack adds, expression sliding towards a grin again, "gotta thank 'em myself. Mighta still been a rabbit if it weren't for them, and that was not fun, lemme tell ya."

Laughing, Davey elbows the human in the side. "But you were such a cute rabbit," he teases. "I mean, those _ears_!" Huffing, Jack uses the arm around David's shoulders to drag him down into a headlock, ruffling his hair. Davey yelps and, after a minute of struggle, manages to pull himself free. He darts several steps ahead so he's out of reach before adding, "And the twitchy little nose!"

"Shaddup, wouldja?" Jack protests, but he's smirking as he chases after the star.

"I don't know, I think I liked you better as a rabbit," Davey calls back over his shoulder. "Oh, and imagine what the fellas are gonna say when I tell them abo- _ah_!" He flails, desperately trying to regain his balance, when Jack manages to grab a fistful of his shirt. A pair of arms around his waist are the only thing that stop him from falling forward onto his face, and instead, he stumbles back into Jack's chest. The human is laughing as he spins him around and kisses him soundly.

"Youse a nuisance, you know that?" Jack asks when they part for air.

David grins. "Back at you," he responds, and it comes out far more fond than he means for it to, but it's worth it for the smile that lights up Jack's eyes.

"Seriously, though, don't tell the fellas 'bout the rabbit thing," Jack says, chuckling. "Least not 'til this is all over. Ain't no one gonna take me serious if they hear 'bout that."

"It's already pretty hard to take you seriously," the star agrees. Jack pinches his side in retaliation. "Alright, alright, I won't say anything to them. Yet." He leans in to kiss the human's pout away before pulling back. "Of course it won't matter if we keep stopping like this. We'll never make it to Wall at this rate."

"I can't help if youse distractin' me," Jack counters with a shrug, but when Davey starts walking, he immediately falls into step with him. "Just like you can't help youse glitterin' worse."

Davey chuckles, ducking his head self-consciously. "That's your fault."

"Yeah?" Jack asks, and when David glances sideways at him, the human looks much too pleased with himself. Davey punches him in the arm and Jack staggers a half-step, laughing and throwing his hands up in surrender. "Okay, sorry," he says, grin unrepentant. "Right, no more bein' charmin'."

"Implying you're charming in the first place," the star says sarcastically.

Jack scoffs. "Worked on you, didn'it? A'right, let's get you thinkin' 'bout something else. We gotta get rid that glitter."

"It's a shine, not glitter," David says petulantly. "Stars _shine_." Jack waves a hand dismissively, smirking. Davey lets his thoughts wander, searching idly for something to distract himself from the near-constant hum of happiness in his chest. A snatch of memory floats back to the surface. "Hey, Jack, who's Cheryl?"

"Who?" the human asks in confusion.

"Cheryl," David repeats. "Or, maybe it was Carl, but it definitely sounded like a ' _ch_?'"

"What on earth you talkin' 'bout?" Jack says, brow furrowed.

Davey licks his lips. "I don't know, exactly," he admits. "It's just something you said when you first woke up yesterday. I mean, when you first changed back, from a rabbit. You said something, it sounded sort of like Cheryl. I thought maybe it was someone you knew."

"Never met a Cheryl in my life," Jack says, shrugging. "I dunno, Dave, I was pretty out of it. Don't remember that, honestly. The whole thing's hazy. I could hear stuff but things felt sorta blurry, ya know? Like how dreams go fuzzy when ya wake up, sorta. I rememba ya runnin', and your heartbeat was so loud, and then I don't rememba nothin' again 'til wakin' up by the pond. I was pro'lly talkin' nonsense."

"Yeah, must've been," David agrees and he feels something uncoil in his chest. He knew that the human's brain had been a bit scrambled, but it's a relief to find out that he wasn't calling out for some strange girl from his past or something.

Jack nods and nudges him with an elbow, smiling. "Exactly," he says, like he knows precisely what Davey's thinking. "So, got anotha story ta' tell me? Ooh, you know anythin' 'bout Greeks? There was a fella back home, owned a deli, and he was always talkin' 'bout how his family went back ta' the warriors of Sparta. What was all the fuss 'bout them?"

So David preoccupies himself by recounting the Peloponnesian Wars as they walk, which gives him something to focus on enough that he can get his shine under control. It's a good thing, too, because the further they go, the more roads that join theirs and the more people they encounter.

After a few miles, it gets to the point where they can no longer keep dodging off the road every time a wagon passes, or else they'd never make any progress. No one gives them too much trouble, apart from the occasional distrustful glare as they pass. Still, Jack and Davey make a point to keep their heads down and hands in their pockets so that the bands on their wrists are hidden. Just in case.

Their road abruptly forks around midday, and a wooden sign at the side of the road gives directions. The fork to the right, pointing down the larger of the two roads, is labelled 'Wall - 5 miles.' Jack and Davey exchange glances. "Not far now," David says.

"Almost there," Jack agrees. "Two hours, maybe."

Davey glances sideways, seeing the moment of hesitation in the human's eyes. He reaches out and takes Jack's hand. "We doing this?"

Jack looks from their joined hands up to David's face, and his jaw sets resolutely. "Yeah, we's doin' this."

* * *

It's mid-afternoon when the first signs of Wall become visible. The forests to the north have thinned away to rolling plains of grass the further they make it, and as they come around a bend, the city stands out against the horizon as a swell of stone. Wide roads are leading into the city from every direction, crowded with wagons and carts as well as groups traveling by foot. There's no chance of avoiding other people anymore, but they find that the closer they get, the more they meld into the general hubbub.

"Jacky, look," David says, shielding his eyes with a hand to squint ahead. Jack follows his gaze and feels something turn over in his stomach. Just outside of the city, in a wide stretch of open field, he can just make out what looks like an enormous campsite. There's no way to tell exactly how many people there are from so far away, but it's definitely more than he expected.

"My God, there's so many," Jack breathes in awe. As his gaze pans across the roads around them curiously, he picks out a few more figures headed in that direction, the iron bands on their wrists catching the afternoon sunlight. He's shaking as he reaches out and takes David's hand. "This's real."

"This is real," David agrees, grinning. "All these kids, you brought them together. Jack, you did it."

"We did it," Jack counters, squeezing his hand, and they both smile eagerly.

Their pace picks up after that, excitement overtaking their exhaustion. As they get closer to the rally encampment, it only seems to get bigger and bigger. The Fey have claimed several square miles of open grass, clustered together in large groups. Two kids who are walking on the next road cast glances at them and then cut across to field walk next to them.

"Rally?" the girl, who appears to be the older of the two, asks hesitantly.

"Yeah," Jack agrees, and watches the tension immediately drain from her posture. "You too?"

"We've been on the road since Turing," the girl says, nodding. "I'm Knots, and this is Biter." She gestures to the younger boy beside her, who can't be older than seven and is watching them with wide eyes.

"Jack," he responds, shaking her offered hand. "And this is Davey."

"You don't got 'em," the little boy - Biter, apparently - says, openly staring at the cloth strips on Jack's wrist. When Jack looks down, he can see that both of them have those iron cuffs on their arms. "They really come off?"

"They come off," Jack says, nodding with determination. The bright hope that lights their eyes is heartbreaking. "We got some friends, should be at the rally. They know how ta' get 'em off." Biter suddenly breaks out in an enormous grin, revealing that his front teeth are missing. Jack chuckles. "That why they call you Biter?"

The kid giggles, and his grin turns a little mischievous in a way that reminds Jack forcibly of Les. "Nah, they call me Biter 'cause I bited Spider."

"Spider?" David echoes, eyebrows raised. "You bit a spider?"

"Not a spider," Knots clarifies. " _The_ Spider. The Fey Snatcher, the warlock that runs the Refuge, ya know? When he first nabbed Biter, the kid took a bite outta his hand. He still gots the scar and ev'rythin'."

Jack throws back his head and laughs, both at the kid's grin and the vaguely proud look on Knots' face. "Good job, kid," he says, reaching out and ruffling his hair. 

"The Spider, he's the one who turns kids to animals?" Davey asks. The girl nods and the star's grip tightens on Jack's hand as they exchange looks. David smiles hopefully and Jack knows what he's thinking; they've got a name, which means one step closer to finding this guy and freeing the Fey he's captured.

"But not no more," Knots says passionately. "Not afta this rally. We gonna show 'em all." Her face is full of righteous fury and it lights something in Jack's chest, reminds him why this is so important. Why he's doing this in the first place. Kids like these two _need_ this.

When they reach the camp, they are welcomed in without question. One of the older Fey starts showing them around, pointing out where everything is and where extra hands are needed. A group have shambled together a makeshift cafeteria, brewing large pots over open fires. Another area seems to have been designated as an infirmary, where they are tending to the ones who were injured getting there.

Jack looks around at the gathering in awe. There are kids of all ages, from as young as six to some that look to be well into their twenties, the older ones corralling younger ones into manageable groups. Scattered among them, he can even see a good number of adults; some have the marks of Fey, some are hovering around Fey kids that clearly belong to them, and others just seem to be there to help. It's so much more than he ever dreamt of, and the incredible turnout is humbling.

"Hey, I know you!" A kid points at Jack as they walk passed, eyes wide. "Youse the one was up speechin' in Jerna, ain't you?"

Jack shakes off his surprise to summon up the confident leader again. That's what these kids need, what they expect to see. So he grins and nods. "Jack Kelly. You was there?"

The kid grins, elbowing the girl next to him excitedly. "Told ya he was for real," he says, fidgeting with the kerchief around his neck. His gaze turns back to Jack and Davey. "Saw youse guys, fightin' them Bulls in town. Was incredible."

"Wait, you're _that_ guy?" Knots asks breathlessly. "The one started all this? Your pirate friends was talkin' 'bout you when they come through town."

"It's him!" Another kid gasps, and the shout is picked up all around them. In the next second, Jack is swept up in the crowd as kids clamor to get closer, cheering and asking questions. It's amazing and overwhelming, and Jack does his best to keep up with everything as the Fey shuffle him around the camp like some sort of war hero on parade.

Jack's head is spinning, and it's only his grip on Davey's hand that stops the star from getting jostled away in the chaos. A shout through the crowd catching his attention, not for the volume but the name. "Cowboy!" Jack and Davey both spin towards the voice hopefully. A chorus of "Jack! Davey!" preludes the parting of the crowd as someone pushes forward. Jack barely sees the familiar blonde curls before he's tackled into a hug.

"Racer?" Jack asks in surprise, and then _humph_ s as another figure barrels into him. More and more familiar faces emerge, and he nearly falls over under the dogpile of Brooklyn pirates. David's laugh is loud next to him as he's also dragged into it, Les hanging off the star's arm and bouncing excitedly.

"You guys are all okay?" Jack asks, when he can finally take a step back to get a good look at the crew around him. Apart from Finch, whose arm is splinted and in a sling, they all look to be tired but relatively uninjured. "Everyone made it?"

"We's all good." Spot steps up from behind the mass of pirates, arms folded and face stoic, but Jack can recognize the lines at the corners of his eyes that say he's holding back a smile. "Take more than a coupla Bulls to take down the Brooklyn, ya know that."

"Course," Jack agrees, but the sudden wave of relief that washes over him is staggering. They're all okay. He's been trying to convince himself of it for days, but it's completely different to actually see it for sure. Jack grins, and even though he knows it's going to get him smacked around the head, he drags the captain into a quick hug.

"Whoa, hey!" Spot protests and takes a step back. Sure enough, this is swiftly followed by a punch in the arm for his daring, but Jack just laughs. Spot's expression softens ever so slightly. "Glad youse two's okay."

"You too, Cap'n," Davey says, extracting himself from the chaos to stand at Jack's side. Jack's eyes pan over the gathered pirates, checking off against a mental roster. Along with the crew that sailed to Jerna with them, he can also see several of the boys who took off in Quarterway to spread the word. Albert and Elmer, Blink and Mush. "Ev'ryone made it?"

"Just 'bout," Race says, falling back into his usual place at Spot's shoulder. "Sniper and Jojo just got here 'bout an hour ago. Only ones we's still waitin' on is the fellas with Lady Kath."

Something lurches in Jack's stomach at the reminder, a swell of betrayal in his chest. "She made it out of Jerna? And you just let her leave?"

"Course not," Spot says. "Ship rules, no one takes off alone. Romeo and Skittery went with her."

"But she's Pulitzer's kid!" Jack says.

Spot scoffs. "Yeah. Ev'ryone knows that," he says, shrugging. "Why ya think I been callin' her princess?"

"We didn't know," Davey chips in, frowning.

Race laughs. "Forgot ya ain't locals," he says, elbowing Spot pointedly. "Thought ya knew. It's common knowledge 'round here. Was some big fight, she and the old man had a fallin' out. All'a sudden, Lady Kath takes her ma's family name and sets off on her own. No one knows fo'sure what it was 'bout, but he's been tryna hunt her down since."

Jack is still struggling to come to grips with this new idea, but David presses on, "So if that's not it, why isn't she here?"

"Went ta' send word to her lordly friends," the captain says, and his tone takes on a skeptical edge. "Thinks she can convince 'em ta' join up. Wasn't gonna stop her. If she's right, won't hurt any ta' have some nobles on our side when things go down. Was a long way out ta' her Seer friend, but figure they should get here by sundown if they don't run inta' trouble." Apparently considering the conversation over, Spot nods and whistles to get the pirates' attention. "A'right, c'mon boys. Back ta' work."

* * *

Jack and David are pulled along with the crew of the Brooklyn as they return to an open patch of land that seems to have been set aside for them. It's particularly crowded around them, lines of Fey kids shuffling in anticipation. The pirates break off into small groups, each of them gathering around a cuffed Fey.

"We been workin' on gettin' cuffs off kids since we got here," Spot says as he joins Race and Finch in a circle at the head of a line. "Teachin' how ta' others that's got some grasp of magic, so they can help. More kids just keepin' comin', faster than we can work. But your plan is workin' good, Mouth."

"It works?" Davey asks eagerly, his heart leaping in his chest.

"See for ya'self," Race says, grinning. Spot gestures to the kid at the front of the line, a young girl in a ragged dress, and she comes to stand in the middle of their little circle. "A'right, doll, you just hold still, yeah?"

Race's brow furrows in concentration as he closes his hands around the girl's forearm. The pale orange light of his magic spreads out from his palms, tinting her skin as it stretches up across her wrist and hand beneath the cuff. As soon as her hand is covered, Race nods. Spot and Finch instantly leap forward, magic-tinted hands grabbing the cuff. It sparks and the girl flinches in alarm, but that's the most reaction she gives. A minute later, the cuff falls to the grass with a dull _thump_.

"See, works a treat," Spot says and graces them with a rare smile, while Race takes a second to catch his breath. "Genius idea, makin' a shield 'tween the cuff and the kid. S'just enough ta' stop the jinx gettin' through."

"Ya did it, Dave," Jack says, squeezing the arm he's thrown over David's shoulders at some point, and he beams proudly.

"I'm just glad I could help," the star says but there's a well of satisfaction in his chest that he can't contain. He's wanted nothing more than to make some sort of difference, to help people. Even though it feels like such a small thing, just coming up with an idea, he knows that this matters so much to these kids. He's made a difference.

"Could use s'more help, if youse free," Finch chips in, as Race and Spot trade jobs for the girl's second cuff. "Lots these kids got sores and stuff unda'neath. Could use someone ta' help clean 'em up and bandage."

Davey nods, stepping forward, and he feels Jack's arm slip from his shoulders. When he glances back, the human has been pulled into a conversation with a few of the Fey kids lined up. They are all gazing at him in awe, hope and admiration in their eyes. Jack looks over at the star uncertainly.

"Go ahead," Davey says, grinning. Right now, it doesn't matter that he wants Jack at his side. What _they_ want right now isn't important; there will be time for that later. These kids need their valiant leader to inspire and give them hope. "I can handle this. I think the most helpful thing you can do right now is be the famous Jack Kelly."

Jack smirks, rolling his eyes. As the star makes to turn away, Jack reaches out and snags David's hand. "See ya in a bit," he says with that smile that's just for David.

"See ya in a bit," Davey echoes, something warming in his chest at the unspoken sentiment beneath the words. Jack squeezes his hand once before he slips into the crowd of Fey. David watches him for a second more and then shakes himself. Right, business to take care of.

A Fey that Davey doesn't know directs him to where he can get supplies, and he gathers up water and bandages. Once he's got them, he heads back to where Spot's group is just finishing with another Fey child. "Might wanna clear ya head," the captain says under his breath, shooting him a significant look as Davey sits down in the grass. "Youse doin' the firefly thing again."

The star blushes and ducks his head, checking his hands in his lap. Sure enough, there's a faint sprinkling of silver, thankfully mostly masked by the sunlight that's creeping close to the horizon. "I'll have it under control by the time it gets dark," David says resolutely. Spot nods, his attention already on the next Fey that they are helping. Davey waits until they have removed the cuffs and the boy is walking away before he speaks again. "You really knew? The whole time?"

"Course I did," Spot responds. "My Knack, rememba?"

"And you never said anything?" David presses.

Spot shrugs. "Not my place," he says simply. He gestures to the next Fey in the line. "Didn't make no diff'rence ta' me. Figured we got a common enemy. Youse just anotha kid on the run from Pulitzer, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Davey agrees in surprise. It still seems strange to him that the captain didn't care, after all of the fuss everyone else in the kingdom has made about it. Of course, this is the same man who wasn't fazed by three people appearing in the clouds from nowhere, or by the apparently renegade princess of the kingdom showing up on his ship. Spot Conlon, the unflappable captain of a crew of magic-wielding runaways who catch lightning for a living.

David is pulled from his thoughts as the cuff falls off the Fey and Finch hisses through his teeth. "Get some bandages ready, Mouth," the first mate says grimly. The Fey boy is shaking, and David can see that his now bared wrist is scabbed and bleeding. "This poor kid's a bit banged up."

"Right away," the star agrees, wringing out a damp rag as the pirates move to the other wrist. Davey gets caught up in tending to the newly liberated Fey, comforting kids through tremors as they adjust to being able to feel their magic again and bandaging the ones whose cuffs have rubbed their skin raw and bloodied. It's draining work, but it's worth it for the joy and wonder on the kids' faces as they come to grips with their freedom. 

* * *

Jack has always been a social creature. He adapts to every situation, and he can make himself at home in any group. It's a natural charisma, a confidence of self that comes from making his way on his own for so long. He likes being around people, and he enjoys being the center of attention.

That being said, this is starting to feel like a bit much, even for him.

Everywhere he turns, there are more kids who want to talk to him, who want a second of his time. There are literally _hundreds_ of Fey, all of them looking to him for advice and comfort and inspiration. He has slowly been making the rounds, doing what he can, but it still feels like so little in the grand scheme.

A small hand slips into his and Jack looks down into a pair of wide, hopeful eyes. "We gonna do this, right Mr. Jack?" The kid can't be more than five, the sort of skinny that only comes from not eating enough and his wrists bandaged in place of cuffs. It occurs to Jack that this was him, once. This is how old he was when Medda brought him out of Stormhold, when a stroke of fate spared him from a life of slavery.

"Damn right, we're gonna do this," Jack responds, crouching down to put himself closer to the kid's height. The fire surges up inside of him again, that humming electric current under his skin, and he closes the kid's tiny hand in both of his. "You see all this? All these kids? This ain't a little thing. This is what _change_ looks like."

He straightens up, turning to face the gathered crowd around him. "Pulitzer thinks we's gutter rats, with no respect for nothin' and no one. But this, right here, this is us proving him wrong. We are all here togetha. All of us, standin' up for each other so no one else ever gotta go through what we been through.

"And it ain't just for us. It's for ev'ry one of them kids out there that ain't here. The ones that was too scared. The ones that can't get away from the folks keepin' 'em in chains. The ones trapped in the Refuge. This is where we show Pulitzer that we ain't just a buncha kids. We's people, and we got rights, and we ain't gonna back down 'til he sees that. We're in this togetha. Right?"

An uproar of cheers echoes back at him, kids punching the air and throwing arms around each other. It feeds the inferno in Jack's gut, the power of righteous fury, and he throws himself back into the throng with a renewed energy. This is why he's here. This is why they are doing this. For all of these kids who deserve better.

The afternoon passes in a haze as Jack makes his way in and around all of the various groups of Fey. He spends some time with the kids in the makeshift infirmary, giving reassurance to the kids who are already injured and afraid of worse coming for them. He goes by the area where the Brooklyn crew, with the help of a few new recruits, are taking cuffs off the Fey, and shares in the joy of feeling liberated. He talks strategy and planning with the oldest of the group, and he spins stories of epic battles and conquests for the youngest.

It's into the evening by the time that Jack manages to slip away for a moment to himself, snagging a bowl of the broth from the kitchens when he realizes he hasn't eaten all day. "It's been good havin' ya here," the lady serving tells him as she hands him the bowl. "Good to see these kids havin' faith again."

Jack glances curiously at the woman's wrists; she is older, inching towards middle age, and her wrists show no signs of ever wearing cuffs. "You're not Fey?" he asks.

The woman's smile is sad when she shakes her head. "My sister was," she responds, and touches a pendant around her neck distractedly. "I couldn't do anythin' to help her, but I can help these kids. It's 'bout time someone does."

"Thank you," Jack says sincerely. "And I'm sorry 'bout your sister."

"Don't you worry yourself, honey," the woman says, and she smiles as she taps his chin affectionately. It's a gesture that reminds him forcibly of Miss Medda and he can't help the grin. "You wasn't even born yet when it happened. You just keep doin' whatcha doin' for these kids now."

Jack nods, the feeling of his resolve hardening in his chest again familiar by now. He finishes off the broth and then heads toward the other side of camp, intending to find Davey. He only makes it several yards before a boy steps into his path, his expression anxious and afraid. "You're Jack Kelly?"

"Yeah, that's me," Jack says, brow furrowed. The kid has another boy behind him, and they both look vaguely scared. "You okay, kid?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm good," the kid says hastily, clearing his throat. "But - we got a friend, she's in town. And she's in trouble, but she's too scared ta' come out here and I'm just - we're worried 'bout her. And we's just hopin', maybe you can talk to her? Ya know, let her know it's okay."

Jack frowns, glancing uncertainly between the boys. "She's in trouble?"

"Please," the second kid says, voice shaking. "She's eight."

Something lurches in Jack's chest, and he bites his lip. "Lemme grab my friend, he's good at helpin' with this stuff."

"No, please," the first kid cuts in frantically. "Just - if we're gonna sneak inta' town, it's betta to have less people, right? Since folks is already on look for Feys and all."

"I guess," Jack agrees. He glances around and then nods. "Okay, let's go."

Both boys seem to deflate as they sigh in relief. They turn toward town and Jack follows, nerves thrumming beneath his skin. The camp isn't all that far from the outskirts of the city, and thankfully, most people seem to have turned in for the evening because there aren't too many people on the roads as they pass. The boys clearly know the path, weaving their way through side roads and between buildings without hesitation.

"How much farther?" Jack asks quietly as the buildings begin to block out his view of the campsite.

"Just up here," the first boy says eagerly, ducking down another alley. He stops at a door and gestures for quiet before he opens it slowly. It's dark inside the house, the only lights coming through the windows from outside. Jack slips in after the kid, squinting around in the shadows, and then feels a sudden chill race down his spine.

"Where's she?" Jack asks.

The second kid comes in and shuts the door behind him, casting the room into further darkness. "Sorry," he says tremulously. "They was gonna hurt her."

"What-?" A blow to the back of the head sends his world careening into shadow. 

* * *

A hand on his shoulder startles Davey and he looks up to find Spot standing over him. It's only now that he realizes that it's late into the evening, the campsite illuminated by only scattered campfires and a sliver of moonlight. "C'mon, time for a break," the captain says. "Youse dead on ya feet."

"But the Fey," David says, his gaze drifting to the lines of kids still waiting to have their cuffs removed.

Spot shakes his head. "It's handled. We take it in shifts, rememba?" he says. "Just like on the ship. Blink and Mush and Sniper is gonna take over now. C'mon. I need somethin' to eat and you pro'lly do too." The captain hauls him up by the back of his shirt, and Davey laughs as he shoves him away, steadying himself on his feet.

"Alright, I'm coming," the star says, passing his supplies off to the Fey that immediately steps up to take his spot. David follows the pirates as they migrate over to a patch of land that they seem to have claimed for themselves. Several members of the Brooklyn's crew are sitting in a vague circle around the campfire, some of them eating and others already asleep.

"Davey!" Les bounds over eagerly as the three of them are gathering bowls of stew for dinner.

"Hey kid, how you doing?" David responds, summoning up a weary smile for the youngest pirate's sake. Ever since the fight in Tryb, Davey found that Les was hanging around him more and more. The boy was endlessly fascinated by David's stories about history, and the star wound up growing more fond of the kid than he ever expected. Davey never felt particularly attached to any of his siblings back home, but he imagines this is what having a little brother must feel like.

Spot and Race sit down in an open patch of grass, and the captain nods pointedly toward the ground beside him. When David sits, Les promptly drops down next to him. "I been helpin' with makin' food," Les announces proudly. "This lady, Peggy, she teached me how ta' peel veggies real good. I got super fast and I didn't cut myself once." He holds out his hands deliberately, showing off his unmarked fingers. "And I did so good, she lemme sneak a roll. Ya wanna split it?"

Davey grins affectionately as Les offers out half of the little wheat roll. "No, thanks, you keep it," the star says. "You deserve it for all that hard work you did."

"You did good work too, Mouth," Spot chips in, raising an eyebrow. "We couldn'a done none of this without ya."

Les seems to take that as confirmation, because he pointedly grabs David's hand and sets the bread in his palm. "Thanks, Les. And I'm glad I could help," Davey says. He holds out his soup bowl, letting Les dunk his bit of bread into it. "I was kind of worried I wouldn't be much help in all of this, honestly."

Race scoffs. "Was your idea made all this happen," he points out. "Damn good idea for a fella that don't got magic."

David glances up, startled. Spot smirks. "Oh, right, should mention," he says. "Had ta' tell the crew 'bout you. Least the ones from Jerna. Had ta' tell 'em somethin', they was wonderin' why youse two took off."

After he gets over the first, instinctive spike of panic at the thought of more people knowing what he is, Davey finds that he's not actually all that concerned. He trusts these boys, has counted on them to have his back in both lightning storms and street brawls. So he swallows and nods. "Okay."

"That went betta than expectin'," Race faux whispers.

"It's only right, really," the star responds, shrugging. "They deserve to know after everything we've been through." Spot raises an eyebrow but he gives an approving nod as he turns his attention to his food. "Honestly, I feel kind of dumb for not guessing that you knew," he admits. "Especially after you started teaching Jack to use his magic but never once mentioned teaching me too."

Race laughs. "Good point, didn't even think 'bout that," he says. "We gotta watch 'bout that, Cap'n."

"I know Les knew before," David says, glancing down at the kid leaning into his side. "Jack told me that. But I'm assuming you knew too, Race?"

"Told him when ya decided ta' stay onboard," Spot says, nodding. "Les found out a coupla days later 'cause he's a nosy snoop." Les ducks his head, but despite the rebuke in the captain's words, there's a softer fondness to his expression. "Kid was eavesdroppin', heard us talkin' 'bout you."

"But I didn't tell no one, I promise," Les interjects, looking up at Davey earnestly. "I can keep a secret. I ain't never said a word ta' no one."

David can't contain his smile, and he wraps an arm around the kid's shoulders. "Thanks, Les, I really appreciate that," he says. "You've saved my life by keeping that secret." Davey glances up to Spot and Race, silently letting them know they're included in that gratitude. "Oh, and these helped too, so thanks for that," the star adds, holding up a wrist to show the leather band. "Did you want them back?"

"Nah, keep 'em," the captain says, shaking his head. "Still want folks thinkin' youse Fey, and if ya ain't got scars, people's gonna ask."

Davey's eyes flick down to Spot's wrists and his brow furrowed. "You only covered the one." Sure enough, one of the captain's wrists is bare, the interwoven layer of pale scars vivid against olive skin, but the other is loosely wrapped in a tatty red bandana.

"Don't want kids thinkin' they gotta hide 'em," Spot says. "Wanna show 'em they don't got nothin' to be 'shamed of, 'cause it ain't like they did nothin' wrong to get them scars in the first place. Rest the crew was never hidin' theirs, felt dumb me doin' it."

"'Cept that one," Race says, nodding toward the captain's right hand. "Figured no kids was gonna trust us ta' take their cuffs off if they see the mess he made of his hand."

"Isn't that _your_ bandana, Race?" David says, smiling slyly as he suddenly realizes where he's seen the scrap of fabric before; it's the one Race always wore while working on the Brooklyn's engine. Davey forces a look of casual interest before saying, "Did you know that back in the Middle Ages, knights would often wear a handkerchief or scarf from their maidens when they went into battle, for good luck."

Les promptly buries his face in Davey's arm, trying to muffle his fit of giggles, and it makes it that much harder for the star to keep a straight face when he meets the captain's gaze. "Don't think I dunno what youse suggestin'," Spot says flatly, gesturing at him with his spoon. "You best watch what ya say next."

"Wait," Race interrupts, brow furrowed, "you callin' me a maiden?"

Spot's lips twitch. "Well, he ain't wrong there." The blonde scowls and smacks him around the head indignantly.

Before any of them can say more, a wave of excited cheers go up from the Brooklyn crew that are still awake. David looks over curiously and sees that several of them are on their feet, waving to a small horse-drawn cart that is coming up the road toward the camp. It's still a ways out, far enough that he can't see any faces, but the waterfall of red curls shine like a beacon through the darkness. "It's Lady Kath!" Les says, rocketing to his feet. "They made it!"

As the cart gets closer, they can see Romeo and Skittery standing in the back of the wagon, waving energetically. There's an unfamiliar young man sitting next to Katherine on the front bench, well-dressed and polished in comparison to the disheveled pirates. When the cart finally stops at the edge of the campsite, Romeo and Skittery clamber inelegantly out of the back and are immediately swallowed by a tidal wave of pirates. The young man hops down and offers a hand to Katherine as she dismounts.

"Lady Kath!" Les shouts, and he bolts from David's side into the girl's arms in a split second. Katherine laughs brightly as she hugs the boy. "Look, Kath, Davey's here," Les says as soon as he steps back, tugging her by the hand. Katherine's gaze flicks up to where they're sitting and she smiles.

"Oh, Davey, I'm so glad you're okay!" she says. David stands to greet her and is surprised when she wraps him in a hug. "We were all so worried about you," she continues when she lets go. Her eyes dart across their small group, and she frowns. "Where's Jack?"

"He's off doing what he does best," Davey replies, gesturing over his shoulder at the rest of the campsite. "I thought he'd be back by now, but he must still be tied up. These kids seem to think he's some big deal." Katherine smiles knowingly.

The young man has followed her over, hanging back a step, and he clears his throat pointedly. "Oh, of course, sorry," Katherine says, setting a hand on his arm and drawing him forward. "Boys, this is Darcy Kinsley."

"Kinsley," Spot echoes, narrowing his eyes. "As in-?"

"Yes, my father is the Lord of Tryb," Darcy says with a decisive nod. David's eyes widen in surprise; well, that certainly explains the clothes and way he carries himself. He offers out a hand to Spot. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Captain Conlon. I have heard much about you."

Spot grunts in response, but he does at least shake the hand that's offered to him. His gaze turns to Katherine. "Take it your little gamble was a success then?"

"Darcy has agreed to join us," Katherine says, and despite her attempts to retain some regal composure, the excitement in her voice is evident. "And the last word I received from William was that he is on his way. He was farther north than us but he thinks he can make it by sometime tomorrow."

"William?" Race asks, raising an eyebrow. "As in William _Hearst_?"

"The second, yes," Katherine nods.

Race whistles. "Damn, Hearst's kid is on our side? Didn't see that comin'."

"William and I have discussed future changes to the system before," Darcy interjects, adjusting his wire-framed glasses. "It's clear that our current system is no longer functioning in the way it was intended. This is sooner than I think either of us expected, but we're eager to assist this revolution in what ways we can."

Spot eyes the other critically, eyes sharp and arms crossed, and then nods. "Sounds good."

"Davey!" This shout comes from Romeo, who is now sitting with the group of pirates around the fire, and he beckons eagerly.

"C'mon," Race says when David glances to Spot for a dismissal. The blonde claps a hand on his shoulder, pushing him toward the rest of the crew. "Let's leave the borin' folks ta' talk politics. I wanna hear 'bout their trip." He lowers his voice and adds, conspiratorially, "Romeo's over the moon for her Lady-ness. Wanna ask if he got the stones ta' make a move."

Davey is laughing when they join the rest of the pirates around the campfire. He settles down between Race and Les, propped against a crate for support, to listen to Romeo and Skittery talk about their journey. It's full of the playful banter he grew accustomed to on the ship, and David finds that it makes him feel at home in a way he's never known before. He's exhausted from the long day, warmed by the food in his stomach and the body heat from Les against his side, and it doesn't take long before he drifts off. 

* * *

Jack wakes with a gasp as a bucket of cold water is tossed in his face. He blinks the water out of his eyes, brain scrambling to make sense of the cold stone walls and floor around him. Then his gaze lands on a figure standing over him and recognition flares. Jack snarls, halfway to his feet already when he summons his magic.

The pain is instantaneous; Electric fire sears through his veins and his vision goes white, his thoughts scattering in a thousand directions.

It fades as quickly as it started, and Jack finds himself on the ground again, panting for air while his lungs feel like they're seizing. There's a lingering burn in his muscles, a distinct throbbing in the back of his skull, but it's the sight of his hand slowly coming into focus in front of him that makes an icy pit form in the bottom of his stomach. There, wrapped around his wrist, is a heavy iron band.

"You didn't think we'd come unprepared, did you?" Jack forces his eyes up and sees the warlock Wiesel crouched over him, smirking. "Not after all the trouble you caused me last time." Still struggling to steady himself, the most Jack can manage is a furious growl. "Don't test me," Wiesel warns. "Or I will have to teach you just how well those cuffs work." Dark emerald magic flares in his palm and his expression suggests that he wants nothing more than for Jack to push it.

"Not until I've gotten my answers." This voice comes from behind Wiesel, tone sharp and commanding. Wiesel stands and steps out of the way, and Jack stares up at the new figure in shock. He's a towering man in black clothing, with facial hair trimmed into perfect lines and a cool, contemptuous expression. He raises an eyebrow as he gazes down at Jack on the floor. "So, you're the infamous Jack Kelly."

Fighting against the ache in his muscles, Jack pushes himself up onto his knees. "And I'm guessin' youse Mr. Pulitzer."

"King," Pulitzer corrects with a scowl.

"Ain't my king," Jack says, shrugging. "Don't got kings where I'm from."

Pulitzer's eyes narrow. "And it seems that if you had your way, we wouldn't have them here, either," he says. "Precocious, aren't you?"

Jack stands, but something about the man's appearance makes him pause and look around. There is a golden arch around the king, and Jack can see a ghostly version of himself overlaid on Pulitzer. When he glances over his shoulder, the only figures he sees are the pair of Wiesel's goons, waiting in the corners of the room with arms crossed. "Youse inside a mirror," Jack says, looking back to Pulitzer and smirking. "So scared'a me you won't face me in person?"

"Hardly," Pulitzer says. "I'm the king of a land that is currently experiencing political turmoil, thanks to riffraff like you. I don't have the time to travel all the way to Wall just to talk to a Fey."

"But ya still went to the effort of pullin' me aside for a heart-ta'-heart," Jack notes. "I'm flattered. Coulda just sent a letter like a normal folk, though. I's kinda busy too if ya ain't heard."

Pulitzer strokes his goatee thoughtfully. "You have stirred up a considerable amount of trouble in the time that you've been here, Mr. Kelly," he says. "Many people have tried and had far less success in disrupting things to the degree that you have. It's almost impressive. That said, I am here to offer you this one and only chance.

"Tomorrow, every warlock and Bull in the kingdom will descend upon Wall. Your little uprising doesn't know it, but they are already surrounded. My men have been given the order to attack at sunrise, to take every single Fey into custody. Those who resist will be executed without question." The king turns his piercing gaze on Jack. "Unless you agree to tell them to stand down."

"You think I'm gonna tell 'em ta' quit?" Jack scoffs. "I ain't stupid. On'y reason you'd try somethin' like this is if youse really scared we's gonna win. So thanks, but no thanks."

"You are that confident? Willing to risk the lives of all those pirates you've been palling around with on that confidence?" Pulitzer asks. "Captain Conlon? His partner, Racetrack? And what about the little one? Les, was it?" Jack's bravado falters; how does Pulitzer know so much about the crew of the Brooklyn? "It would be a shame if anything were to happen to them. Do you think that they will thank you for your little revolution when it lands them all back in the Refuge? Or worse?"

Jack sneers. "There ain't a person in this whole kingdom don't know you stink."

The king meets his gaze imperiously. "And anyone who knows me can tell you, I don't care," he says. He picks a bit of loose thread off his jacket in a deliberately unperturbed gesture. "On the other hand, do you think the Fey out there will care when they discover that you've been manipulating them?"

"I ain't made no one do nothin' they don't wanna do," Jack snaps angrily. "Those kids want this."

"Do they?" asks Pulitzer, his words taking on a mocking edge. "Do you really believe that those children would be out there were it not for your Knack forcing them?" Jack blinks, surprised and confused by the question. His Knack? He doesn't have a Knack, at least not that he knows of. Pulitzer narrows his eyes. "Oh come now, don't play innocent, boy. Honestly, you should be proud; it's an impressive gift, after all, as far as Knacks go."

Jack rolls his eyes dismissively. "Give it up, old man."

"I have never seen a Knack like it," Pulitzer continues as if Jack hadn't spoken. "The ability to weave magic into your words to coerce people into following you. It's rather incredible, really. I could use someone like you on my staff. Think of what we could accomplish. A few words from you and there would be no dissent, no conflict. There would be true peace in Stormhold."

"You're lyin'," Jack hisses, but a cold weight settles in his gut as something in the words rings true. He thinks back over his speeches, over the way the humming beneath his skin was always followed by agreement from the crowds. The near-euphoric buzz he'd felt in Jerna and the unexpected support from the people. It wouldn't be the first time he's mistaken his magic for adrenaline...

"You know that I'm not," the king replies coolly. "You run around my kingdom, sowing discord in the minds of those children, convincing them to follow you into a war that you've created. Now I will admit, there are undoubtedly some among them who are willing, but are you prepared to gamble that they are all? Do you think they will still trust their valiant leader when they learn that he has been twisting their minds?"

"That ain't-" His heart is hammering and it makes him feel lightheaded. Is Pulitzer telling the truth? He doesn't want to believe it, but at the same time, it makes sense, somehow. That rush, the now familiar thrum of his magic, that he's been so blind to all this time. He felt it whenever he was up in front of a crowd; powerful, righteous, _unstoppable_. But it can't be just that. Maybe at first, but not now. All of those kids he's never spoken to before today, willing to come all this way to fight. "It ain't matter, Knacks or not. Them kids is out there 'cause they want to be. 'Cause they's tired of bein' slaves."

"You can keep telling yourself that, but we both know that you don't believe it," Pulitzer says, scowling down his nose at Jack. "So hear me now, Mr. Kelly, because this is the only time I will offer this. Tell your rabble to stand down and their lives will be spared. Your pirate crew will be free to return to the skies. And you will be returned to your world, where you belong."

"You really think I'm gonna do that?" Jack asks, his throat tightening with a helpless rage. "That I can just leave, go home, and forget all 'bout this place? Go back ta' my old life like none this happened? 'Cause all them kids out there is countin' on me ta' save 'em, and I dunno what I'm doin', but somebody gotta do it. You put me in these chains," he snarls, holding up his wrists to show the bands, "and still think I can just let all'a this go? Tell all'a them kids, 'sorry, but I give up?' No, ya know what I gotta say ta' you? Go ta' hell."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Pulitzer says, his tone unconcerned. He nods, and a sudden blow to the back of his knees sends Jack to the ground. Down on all fours, he glares up to meet the king's opaque eyes in the mirror surface. "Very well, Mr. Kelly. I hope you are prepared to live with the knowledge that you had the opportunity to save lives and have insteaddoomed all of your friends to their deaths."

Jack smirks dangerously. "Ain't gonna have to live with it long, am I?" he says, glancing pointedly over his shoulder at Wiesel and his boys. "But I ain't scared. The Fey gonna win this, ain't nothin' you can do ta' stop it, and they's gonna put someone betta 'an you on the throne. You ain't gonna be king for long."

"On the contrary," says Pulitzer and something flashes, cruel and cunning, in his eyes. "Because I know for a fact that there is one boy out in that field who is not a Fey. You might have kept him from me for this long, but once your little uprising is stamped out, I _will_ have the heart of that star."

The flare of magic is instinctive, the desperate, furious lashing-out of a cornered animal, and the cuffs respond in kind. Jack's limbs buckle but he doesn't even feel it when his head strikes the ground, his body wracked with seizures. When his vision clears, he is curled on the floor at the foot of the mirror. His eyes water as he squints up at the king.

Pulitzer is smiling for the first time, and somehow it's that expression that strikes true fear into Jack for the first time. "With the star's power, I will erase every last Fey from my kingdom. With that power, no silly trinket will be able to steal my throne. I will be king of Stormhold, _forever_. And you, Mr. Tough Guy, you will live through it all. After all, with all of the lives that you have ruined, wouldn't death be a mercy? No, I think the best punishment for your crimes will be your own memories."

A cold, paralyzing horror spreads through Jack and he knows that the king can see it. Pulitzer lifts his gaze to Wiesel. "You know your instructions," he says simply. Then, with one last mocking look down at Jack, the mirror's surface ripples and the king disappears.

"You heard the man," Wiesel says, coming to stand over Jack with a wicked grin. "Gonna put you somewhere you can't get in the way no more. But first," he crouches down, emerald flames licking between his fingers and in his eyes, "how 'bout a little repayment, for all the trouble you've caused me?" Despite Jack's frantic attempt to draw away, Wiesel's hand presses flat into the center of his chest. The moment the magic makes contact with his skin, the electric fire roars through him again, and Jack screams.


	8. Carrying the Banner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so close to the end now and it's giving me serious separation anxiety, guys.

When his eyes open, all Davey can see is a sky full of stars. An endless stretch of violet-blue spreads out above him, millions of specks glimmering like diamonds. The sight is peaceful, grounding, and for a long minute, David is compelled just to lay and stare and remember the simplicity of home.

He's reminded what woke him when another dull stab of pain shoots through his chest. Frowning, Davey sits up and rubs the heel of his hand against his sternum. The camp is still mostly quiet, apart from the Fey pacing the borders as guards and the distant clatter of the place where there are still lines of Fey waiting to have their cuffs removed. All around him, pirates are sprawled across the ground in sleep, and their campfire has burnt down to embers. Les is curled up in a tiny ball on Davey's one side, head cushioned on his tattered bowler hat. Everything seems in order.

Everything except the fact that the patch of ground on the star's other side is empty.

"Jack?" Davey asks across the campfire hopefully. His eyes pan around their group in the dark, picking out familiar features, but none of them are the right ones. Frowning, David stands and starts to walk.

It's possible that Jack just got caught up in being a leader. Perhaps he settled down with the younger group, or the injured, to give them some comfort or confidence. Or maybe he's patrolling the camp, forgoing sleep to keep an eye on the Fey who've given their trust to him. Just because he didn't come back to Davey doesn't necessarily mean that something has happened.

His chest seizes slightly, and David feels an unbidden surge of panic. If Jack is okay, then why does his heart tell him otherwise?

The star's pace picks up, darting among the various groups in search of a familiar face, but with each failure, nausea swells higher in his stomach. He reaches the circle where the Fey are having cuffs removed, and a hand abruptly grabs his wrist. Davey's heart leaps for a split second before he looks down to see the dark gaze of the pirate captain. "Davey?" Spot prompts, brow furrowed.

"Where's Jack?" David hisses anxiously. Spot frowns, glancing at the nearby Fey kids and hastily dragging Davey several steps away, out of earshot. "Have you seen Jack?"

"He didn't come back?" Spot asks.

"He's not with the rest of the crew," Davey says, and the rising panic makes his voice tremble. "I've been looking, but I can't find him. Have you-?"

"Not since yesterday," Spot says. "Last time I saw him was just afta sundown. Saw him headin' over ta' the kitchens. You ain't seen him since?"

The star shakes his head, wrapping his arms around his chest protectively. "The last time I saw him, it was before sundown, when he was talking to those Fey kids in line," he admits.

"Hey." Spot's voice goes stern when he grabs David's shoulders firmly, taking on the presence of a commander again. "Breathe, Davey. Just 'cause you ain't seen him don't mean somethin' is wrong. Maybe he just nodded off out there in the camp somewhere, and ya just didn't see. You was both tired. M'sure he'll come find ya once he wakes up."

"I don't know, Spot," Davey says, glancing down to meet the captain's gaze, and he can feel the moisture building in his eyes. He presses his palm against his chest again. "Something doesn't feel right."

Spot's eyes are sharp and calculating in the dark, and after a beat, he nods. "Maybe," he agrees. "But right now we gotta focus on this." He gestures pointedly around at the camp. "It's getting' close to sun-up, and these kids is geared up for a rally. Them folks in town is expectin' ta' see us, waitin' ta' see what he really got. We don't give it to 'em, and all'a this is gonna be for nothin'. Can ya do this?"

"But Jack-?"

"This ain't just 'cause of Jack," Spot snaps. "This rally, this was _your_ idea. Jack might'a got this thing started, but he couldn'a done it without you. I seen it, the way he turns ta' you when he ain't sure. Jack makes them brave, but you make _him_ brave. And that ain't no magic or Knack. That's you, Dave. My boys is ready ta' follow you just as much as him, so 'til we figure out where Jack's at, you ready to lead?"

David can still taste the bitter sting of fear at the back of his throat, but it's mingling with something else now. Memories of the last two weeks come back to him in snapshots, the moments when Jack faltered or was uncertain, and the way he always looked to Davey; the way the star could bolster his spirits and convince him to keep going.

Race's voice rings in his head, an offhand comment murmured into the morning air. _It's like - both ya are good guys on ya own, but together youse just_ more _, ya know?_ It seems that in all the time David's been looking to Jack for support, he's been returning the favor without realizing.

So the star straightens his spine, swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Spot returns it, clapping his shoulder. "You know, captain, I think that's the most I've ever heard you say in one go," Davey says, managing a cheeky smile. "At least while sober."

Spot snorts and shoves him. "C'mon, let's get these kids ready ta' fight."

* * *

He's floating. It reminds him of that day last summer when a bunch of the boys from the orphanage hiked all the way across the city to spend the afternoon at the beach. The water was so cold it numbed his muscles, but there was something hypnotic about the feeling of laying on his back in the water, that sense of freedom and weightlessness. It's a strange sort of peace, like there's nothing to tether him in place, like there's nothing to stop him from spreading his arms and flying away.

This isn't water, but he still has that same sensation of floating. He doesn't know where he is, doesn't remember how he got here. There's an ominous niggle at the back of his mind, something that makes him scared to probe those thoughts too far. This place is nice, but what if the way he got here wasn't?

"Good God, what happened to him?"

"I dunno. Found him like this."

The water around him is shifting. Instead of floating, he's sinking. Something is tugging him down, like hooks are threaded into his skin, and no matter how desperately he tries to stay in the comfortable place, he's being dragged down. Not through water, but something more substantial. Dense. Quicksand, sucking him beneath the surface.

"He's alive, but I ain't been able to wake him up, part from some mumblin'. I didn't know where else ta' take him. I don't know nothin' 'bout your kind, youse the only one I know. Thought maybe you'd know how ta' take care of him."

"No, thank you, I'm glad ya brought him to me. Here, set him here."

The hooks jab into his muscles, digging deeper and deeper like burrs if he tries to move to save himself. Frantic, he reaches for his magic to help, but he can't find it, the absence leaving him oddly hollow. Every breath burns into him like fire. He's not drawing in air, but the bitter, coarse quicksand, scraping at the tender flesh inside his throat and lungs.

The sand is changing again, becoming more solid and heavy, like large stones are being stacked on top of him. Filling him up. His bones and muscles ache at the pressure, and he can't inhale. He wants to call for help, ask these distant, echoing voices to save him and take him back to the peaceful place, but he can't breathe.

"I ain't gonna report this. S'posed ta' arrest your sort, but it don't feel right, lockin' him up in that state. Just – don't let him wander back my way? 'Cause I ain't riskin' the job twice."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Kloppmann." Then there's something warm on his face, a comforting sweep that brushes aside the sand that's searing into his cheeks and eyelids. "Shh, easy there, Jack. You're safe now. I gotcha."

He can't move, can't manage even the effort to open his eyes against the grains of burning sand that are burrowing through his skin, but her voice is so sad as she slowly, gently frees his face. He has to know, has to let her know. His throat feels like it's filled with shards of glass, but he manages a breathless, "Ma?"

A broken off sound, something that's either a laugh or a sob or a strange combination of both, and the hands cradle his face tenderly. "That's right, sugar, I gotcha. You just rest. You're with Medda now." He lets out a weary breath and stops fighting so hard against the pressure, sinking back into the darkness. Medda won't let him drown. 

* * *

The sun rises on a village square packed to bursting, Fey spilling out into the roads and alleys because there just isn't enough room. Davey is lingering at the edge of the square, sitting on top of a closed shop stall with Spot, Katherine, and Darcy Kinsley. His eyes flit over the gathering with a sense of pride, seeing people who have been woken by the noise leaning out of windows to watch in awe. This is real. They've done it.

There's only one thing that puts a chip in his confidence: the question that has been haunting him for hours, whispered and shouted and traded between kids. _"Where's Jack?"_ David's vague hope that the human would emerge as they started the rally has long since faded. If Jack were here, he would've made himself known by now. There wouldn't still be kids leaning to ask their neighbor if they've seen him.

He wouldn't make Davey do this alone.

"Still nothing?" Behind him, the star hears Darcy whisper this to Katherine. He doesn't hear her respond, but she must've shaken her head judging by the disapproving sound Darcy makes.

Spot grips David's shoulder tightly, a steadiness that calms his racing head. "Okay, kid," the captain says, waiting until Davey meets his gaze before continuing, "looks like youse doin' a solo. Ready?"

"I don't think so," Davey admits, but he summons a weak smile, although his stomach is threatening to rebel. "But let's find out." Wiping his sweating palms on his pants, David climbs up to stand on the stall.

"Fey of Stormhold!" he yells, and it's met with a wave of cheers from the crowd. "Look what we've done! Look at what we've accomplished here!" He pauses to let that sink in, gesturing out at the packed square. "We have got Fey from every corner of this kingdom here today. This is the day that we show all of Stormhold we're more than just property. We are _people_ , not just a product to be bought and traded!"

A roar goes up from the gathering, and Davey feels something in his chest echo it. He might not be Fey, but he knows how it feels to be viewed as an object. To the warlocks of Stormhold, he's just a source of power to be possessed, and his life is just an obstacle to be overcome. He might not be one of them, but perhaps Davey's fighting for his own place just as much as theirs now.

David glances down quickly, and Spot gives him an approving nod, the telltale wrinkles at the corner of his eyes betraying his secret smile. "Today is the day that we stand up," the star shouts, his confidence skyrocketing. "Today is the day that we show Pulitzer that we are just as much a part of this land as any farmer or fisherman or Bull or blacksmith. We are done being treated like belongings. We are done being seen as worthless. From this day on, we _will_ be treated as equals!"

The answering cheers are wild and passionate, and David suddenly understands what it is that Jack finds so intoxicating about this. His heart is racing with adrenaline, and he feels invincible. When he glances down, Spot is nodding, Katherine beaming, and even Darcy looks impressed. Davey is grateful for the bright morning sunlight pouring into the village, because he's almost positive he's shining.

"If you wish to be treated like humans, perhaps you should try _behaving_ like humans." The voice washes across the square, most certainly magnified by magic to be that loud. Davey doesn't have time to look up toward the sudden grating noise before a hand fists in his waistcoat and Spot tugs him down sharply, making the star tumble from the stall down onto the pirate. The captain drags him down into a crouch and holds a finger to his lips pointedly, then mouths a single word: _warlock._

They stand up again, David stooped slightly to blend into the crowd, as the man's voice vibrates out over the gathering. He's older, his white hair severely thinned on top of his head, and sharply dressed. From atop a dais of stone that has appeared from nowhere, he gazes down at the Fey with cold contempt. "I am here on behalf of his majesty, King Pulitzer, to accept your surrender," the man says, holding his hands out magnanimously. A tidal wave of booing and jeers greet this statement.

"We are not giving up!" Katherine has taken Davey's spot on the stall, her face set in a furious scowl. With the morning sunlight streaming through her red curls, lighting them up like fire, she looks like an avenging angel. "This does not end until the Fey of this kingdom are free from slavery!"

"Ah, Lady Katherine," the man responds with a sickly sweet smile. "Your conviction is commendable but unnecessary. Your leader has already negotiated the end of this little rebellion."

"That's not true!" Katherine says sharply, but there is the faintest hesitation in her tone. Spot's grip tightens on Davey's bicep, clearly worried he's about to react, but the star feels numb. All around him he can hear whispers, people once again commenting on Jack's absence and fearfully wondering if it's the truth. But it can't be. Jack wouldn't.

"But it is," the warlock says. He jerks his hand and a second circle of ground rises, this one bearing two large boys holding up an enormous mirror. Davey's eyes widen, because he recognizes the boys; it'd be difficult to forget the blank-faced stares of Wiesel's goons. "He came to us late last night, said that he's had a change of heart. That he realizes he's started something he's not prepared to finish, and begged for his majesty's mercy." Another chorus of outrage breaks out, but it's cut off abruptly when the warlock waves a hand at the mirror. The surface ripples, colors blending and shimmering, before settling into a familiar face.

"I can just leave, go home, and forget all 'bout this place?" The ghost of Jack on the glass is flushed, eyes watery. His voice is wavering in and out, pitch warbling like a radio set to the wrong frequency, but it's most certainly him. "Go back ta' my old life like none this happened? 'Cause all them kids out there is countin' on me ta' save 'em, and I dunno what I'm doin'."

The warlock is smirking. "He bargained with his majesty, and they came to an agreement; Jack Kelly was allowed to return to where he came from in exchange for the unconditional surrender of the Fey rebellion. He traded your freedom for his."

Jack's voice, warped and disembodied, echoes from the mirror. "Tell all'a them kids, 'sorry, but I give up.'"

David knows that he's shaking, is fairly certain this is shock, but he can't bring himself to look away from the now-blank stretch of glass. The Fey are no longer whispering, murmurs and cries bouncing between them all. The mood in the square is descending into fear and hopelessness at a rapid pace, kids jostling into each other, and the warlock beams.

"We don't surrender." Davey hasn't even noticed that the hand has left his shoulder until Spot speaks. He is standing up next to Katherine, arms crossed aggressively, and his voice has taken on the commanding edge that leaves no room for argument.

"Negotiations have been made already," the warlock replies smugly. "I am afraid you are rather late to the conversation."

"'Cept Jack Kelly don't make decisions for me," Spot says. "Far as I know, he don't get ta' make decisions for no one but him. And I'm tellin' ya right now, ta' hell with what Kelly said. _I_ don't surrender."

"Me neitha," Race chimes in immediately, jumping up next to Spot.

"Or me!"

"Me too!"

The cry is picked up all over the square, fists punching the air as more voices join in. Atop his dais, the warlock's smile flickers at the sudden outpouring of resistance. "As you can see, Mr. Lewis," Katherine says over it all, "this revolution is more than just one person. This has evolved beyond a single person's defiance. Jack Kelly might've started this, but now you are facing an entire generation that has stepped up to the plate and taken responsibility for the future of this kingdom."

"Are you really, though?" the warlock jeers tauntingly. "Or are you only here because you've been coerced by your wayward leader and his manipulative Knack?" A confused murmur rolls through the crowd and Davey feels something hot and angry flare in his stomach at the underhanded tactic. "Oh, don't tell me you didn't know," the warlock continues with a simpering smile. "You poor deluded things. That Jack Kelly you all so revere has been playing you all along. His Knack is an ability to convince people to follow him when he talks. So ask yourself, truly, are you really here because you want to be, or because _he_ wanted it?"

"It don't work that way, and ya know it," Spot says furiously. "Knacks can't do that. Youse just tryna scare us."

"So you deny that's his Knack?" the warlock asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Even if it was," Spot spits venomously, "you know how many'a these kids never even met Jack? Most these kids ain't seen him 'fore. They's here 'cause they believe in this, 'cause they's ready ta' fight for their freedom."

"And we will _not_ be standing down." This voice comes from on top of a carriage parked at the edge of the square, where a lean young man with closely-cropped curls is now standing. It's immediately apparent by the state of his clothing and bearing that he is no Fey runaway.

"Young Lord Hearst," the warlock greets, and his voice shakes ever so slightly.

"This matter is now closed for discussion," Hearst says, folding his arms.

"So ya betta run off and tell your king, it's his move now," Spot adds, smirking. "We'll be waitin'."

The cheering crowd buffets Davey in every direction, threatening to sweep him up in the tide, but as soon as he makes to turn and plunge into it, a hand closes around his bicep. "Where ya goin'?" Race asks, although the frown on his face suggests he already knows.

"To find Jack," David responds.

"He's gone," Spot says. Their little group has come down from their makeshift stage to cluster around him, and Davey is met with a semicircle of uncertain expressions. "You saw, same as us. He left."

"No!" Davey jerks his arm free from Race's grip, scowling at the captain. "I don't know what that was, but it wasn't Jack," the star says emphatically. "He wouldn't do that. Not to us. Not to-" _Not to me._ Davey breaks off, pressing the heel of his hand against his ribs. It's still there, the phantom ache in his chest that he can't place, like something inside of him has splintered. "Jack wouldn't betray us like that, and I'd think after all we've been through, Spot, you'd believe that too. No, they did something to him. Pulitzer did something, made him say those things, I don't know. But it's a trick, I know it."

"He's right." William Hearst steps up next to the group, nodding in greeting. "I don't know this Jack fellow, I don't know how or if he was actually involved, but I do know these sort of tactics. I've seen them employed before, by both King Pulitzer and my father. No quicker way to stamp out a rebellion than to demoralize them."

"It's true," Katherine says. "If he killed Jack, that would just turn him into a martyr, make him more of a hero. But by making it seem like Jack left, that he never really believed, that crushes peoples' hopes."

"Which is why I've got to find Jack and bring him back," David finishes resolutely. "Because then I can show these kids that he didn't betray us, that this is still real."

"I believe they already know that," Darcy says, gesturing towards the celebrations all around them. "They do not seem demoralized to me."

"Like Lady Kath said," Race says, shrugging. "Ain't just 'bout one guy, is it? This's bigger than any of us."

"You're not leavin'," Spot says, staring Davey down. "We need ya here, and it too risky. Soon's this is over, we'll find Jack together, but we gotta be here now. We need ya leadin'."

David scoffs, throwing up his hands. "I can't lead right now, and you know it," he counters. "Not with all of these warlocks hanging around. I felt it up there, I know I can't keep my shine under control. You want me to stand up on a stage and let everyone see it? Let Pulitzer know exactly where I am?"

"Well, I sure as hells ain't lettin' ya just go wanderin' off on ya own," the captain counters, taking an aggressive step forward.

"I am not going to stand around and do nothing!" Davey retorts. "I can't lead, and if a fight breaks out, I'm more of a liability than anything. But this is something I can do to help. I am going to find Jack, and you can't stop me."

Snarling, Spot takes another step forward before Race hurries to step in between them. "He's right, Cap'n," the blonde says, and Spot's narrowed eyes snap to him. "Can try and stop him, but what's that gonna do? Just gonna end up youse two gettin' hurt fightin' each otha, and then we gotta pull fellas to guard him, and then them kids out there is gonna be askin' why we got the fella was leadin' us a minute ago all tied up."

"So what, we should just let him go?" Spot snaps. "Let him go off chasin' around a fella that wants ta' kill him? 'Cause ya rememba what happens ta' the rest us if a warlock gets hands on him, right?"

In the background, David can see Darcy and Hearst exchanging confused glances, but it's Katherine who speaks. "Which is precisely why it's the last place they'd expect him to be," she says slowly. "If they know he's with us, they'll expect us to be keeping him guarded. Maybe we can use that to our advantage."

"A decoy," Race says immediately. "Put a buncha the fellas together, so it looks like they's protectin' someone. Warlocks assume that's where Davey's at, they ain't gonna bother lookin' for him nowhere else."

David's heart is hammering when he meets the captain's hard stare. "Please, Spot, it's Jack," he says. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same if it were Racer."

"Ya flatter me, Davey," Race says, glancing over his shoulder to flash a teasing smile. "But he's been tryna get rid of me for ages, just can't find no one who'll take me." His tone is more serious when he turns back to the captain. "C'mon, Spot, we got a rebellion ta' lead. Rest of us can handle this while Dave does his thing."

"Stop givin' me orders," Spot barks, knocking Race's hand off his chest. He takes another step toward David. "You find out where Jack is and ya come right back, got it? Don't go takin' no risks on ya own, and I know it's askin' a lot, but try not ta' do nothin' stupid. You ain't no good to no one dead, 'cept Pulitzer."

"Thank you," Davey says.

"The warlocks have a meeting place in Wall," Katherine says. "A manor house near the center of town, with red pennants on the sides. That's where Mr. Lewis will be headed, regrouping and waiting for his next orders. But be careful, Davey, chances are Lewis won't be the only warlock there."

Spot abruptly snatches Race's hat off his head, ignoring the blonde's affronted yelp. He practically has to stand on his toes to make up for the height difference when he tugs the hat roughly onto David's head. "Which means keep ya head down, wouldja? And grab one'a the fellas on ya way. I still don't want ya out there alone. Ship's rules, rememba?"

"I'll be back soon," the star promises, to avoid the captain's request. He has no intentions of taking someone else along, and he certainly has no plans of coming back without Jack, but they don't need to know that. It'll just start another fight. So he nods a farewell to the rest of their group, then turns on his heel and melds into the crowd. 

* * *

The roads of Wall are more crowded than expected, people bustling around each other as they go about their business. Every snatch of conversation that David hears as he passes is, unsurprisingly, all focused on the same thing. _Have you seen the square? There are so many of them! I didn't think they'd really do it._ Some people sound annoyed at the interruption to their day - _have to go all the way around because the square's all blocked up_ \- and some are just generally angry - _why can't the stupid kids just go back to work like the rest of us?_ \- but for the most part, the whispers that reach him are sympathetic - _they're all so young, the poor things_.

Thankfully, no one seems to be paying him much mind as the star travels with the flow of the foot traffic. He didn't bring one of the crew with him, but after a few blocks, he sort of wishes he had. Even among the blended mass of bodies, he feels strangely exposed. 'Alone' is not a feeling he's had much experience with, and this is really the worst time for it to make itself known.

He keeps the brim of his hat pulled down just slightly and makes a concentrated effort to not draw attention to himself, hands in his pockets and determinedly not meeting anyone's gaze. Jack's advice from days before comes back to him; _folks gonna pay more 'ttention to ya if ya look guilty._ The memory sends a pang of loss through him that he forces to the back of his mind.

He _will_ find Jack. He'll get him back.

The warlocks' guild hall isn't difficult to find, the building taller than almost every other one except for the manor house that must belong to the local leadership. David slows his pace when he's only a street away. Honestly, he hasn't fully figured out what his plan is from here. If he does find the warlock here, how is he supposed to get any information from him? Davey can't exactly interrogate him. Is he supposed to follow the warlock to wherever he's going, hoping he goes to Jack? Or should he wait until he can find Wiesel, and tail that warlock instead?

One step at a time. The first thing David needs to do is find the warlock. The star makes a slow circuit around the block until he finds a narrow, nondescript alleyway. It curves slightly, but at the end, he can see what appears to be a stable yard. He moves carefully down the alley, listening for voices, but there is nothing distinctive. Skirting around a pair of large barrels against one wall, he presses himself to the side and tiptoes forward.

"Davey?"

David jumps and claps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from yelping in surprise at the whisper from behind him. Spinning on his heel, his gaze slides across the alley, but he doesn't see anything. Then, from the corner of his eye, he sees a flicker of movement. When he looks down, it's to find Les hunkered down in the angle formed by the barrels and the building wall.

"Les, what're you doing here?" Davey hisses. He glances around to make sure they're really alone before he crouches down in front of the boy.

"Lookin' for Jack," Les responds. "He didn't run, Davey, I know it."

"I know," the star says. "But you need to get back to the others, it's not safe out here on your own."

Les' jaw immediately sets into that childish stubbornness that's become so familiar by now, the one that says he's expecting to get into trouble but isn't going to change his mind anyway. "I ain't goin' back," he says resolutely. "I know how ta' stay hid and I'm good at sneakin'."

That observation makes David pause, and he steals another look around the alley. Come to think of it, there's really nothing about this spot that should've shielded Les from view, yet Davey still hadn't seen him even when he looked right over him. "Was that your Knack?" the star asks curiously, remembering the stories about how the youngest pirate had used his ability to manipulate what people see to stay hidden onboard the Brooklyn for weeks.

"I told ya, I can stay hid," Les says with a nod. "I can listen and find out where Jack is, so we can get him back."

The voice in the back of David's head is screaming at him, telling him what a terrible idea this is - _he's just a kid, what're you doing, this is so dangerous_ \- but he pushes it away. He knows that Les won't go back just because he's told to, and it might not be a bad idea to have someone along who is so adept at being unseen. "Les, can your Knack hide two people?"

The boy's eyes brighten immediately. "Yeah, fo'sure," he agrees. "I hid me and Spot and Finch in just a net one time."

"Okay," David nods, before he can talk himself out of it, "because I'm going to find out where they took Jack, and I could really use your help."

The immediate plan is to sneak around and find a place to hide out near the front of the building, where they can watch the doors for warlocks coming and going. Davey still isn't sure whether he's looking for Lewis or Wiesel, but it's the most he's got to work with at the moment. So the pair of them creeps cautiously down the alley into the stables, which are open and airy. There are several wagons and carriages lined up to the side, and a handful of people are tending to the horses in their stalls.

David hovers, looking for a way to get through without being seen. Les taps his elbow and then points to the gap between the back of the stable and the wall of the next building. Nodding, the star slips into the narrow space. He has to turn sideways to fit, even with as thin as he is, and he shuffles slowly along the wall with Les a half step behind him.

At the end of the stable, Davey slides out and crouches behind a pair of large water troughs. He makes to move toward the carts, intending to hide behind them, when there's a sudden clamor of voices from the far side of the stables. Les' hand closes around his wrist, tugging him back down, and a strange tingling sensation crawls over his skin. When David looks back, the boy's forehead is furrowed in concentration, and the star hopes that means they're hidden.

"You hear him shoutin' in there?" The voice is unfamiliar, a hint of amusement tinging the edge of his words. "I don't envy Lewis that job."

There's a dry scoff. "And ya think he ain't gonna be mad enough to take it out on all of us?" Even though he suspected that Wiesel was around here somewhere, actually hearing his voice makes Davey flinch instinctively, shaking off memories of emerald fire and obsidian blades. "Pulitzer's furious. Them kids was s'posed to back down."

Davey feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he looks around curiously. His eyes fall on one of the wagons, and he finds a pair of eyes staring straight back at him. The star's heart leaps into his throat. There's a huddled figure tucked into the back of a wagon, hunched down into the gap beneath a bench. David can't see much from where he's at, but he can see the length of rope that attaches cuffed wrists to a latch on the wall of the wagon. Wide eyes are watching Davey and Les with the sort of focus that says they aren't fooled by Les' Knack. Davey holds a finger to his lips hopefully. In the back of the wagon, the Fey nods silently.

"You took care of the leader, right?" the second man asks.

"Dumped him off, just like the king asked," Wiesel says, with obvious annoyance. "Wish I coulda killed him. Stupid, leavin' him alive. He ain't been nothin' but trouble."

The second man makes a derisive noise. "No kidding. Think the king's still hopin' he'll change his mind. Knack like his, you imagine how scary that kid'd be if he got some proper trainin'? Put all the rest of us outta a job."

Wiesel laughs. "Oh, trust me, he ain't comin' back," the warlock drawls. "King said I couldn't kill him, but he didn't say nothin' 'bout treatin' him nice." Both men laugh, while David feels a cold terror pool in his stomach.

"I'mma head out to the square, meet up with the others," the second warlock says, still chuckling. "Wanna be there when Pulitzer gives us the word. It's gonna be a good time, watchin' them kids try and run and find out they's surrounded. Youse comin' right?"

"Nah, I got anotha job ta' do," Wiesel says dismissively. "You go have fun. Soak a brat or two for me, yeah?" The men exchange farewells and the stable workers scramble to get their horses attached to their wagons again.

Wiesel appears for a moment, snarling at a worker who is taking too long, and Davey's stomach lurches. The warlock looks imposing, especially from their crouched position, and the star doesn't dare so much as breathe as Wiesel's eyes pass over their hiding spot. They linger for a second that feels like an hour, and then Wiesel turns away to continue berating the stable workers.

It's several minutes later when both warlocks' carts have left the stables, and David waits a minute longer for the sounds of the wheels on cobblestone to fade before he finally relaxes. Davey exhales heavily and nudges Les with an elbow. "Kid, you're incredible," he whispers, glancing down to flash a smile that the boy instinctively echoes.

Les points toward the wagons and when David follows his eyes, he sees the Fey from before is still watching them. The star leans out to make sure that the stable workers have all returned to their jobs before he gestures for Les to come with him. They hurry across the space between the stable and wagons, running in a crouch, until they reach the large black wagon. The Fey draws back as far as the rope will allow, eyes anxious.

"We aren't going to hurt you," David says softly, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. The kid's eyes seem to snap to the leather on Davey's wrists, and they frown thoughtfully. From this close, he can see that the kid is young, probably not much older than Les. Their face is streaked with dirt beneath a knit cap, and their clothes are tattered and worn thin.

"Fey?" The quiet voice surprises David, and he takes a closer look; he hadn't been able to tell, with the youthful features and short, choppy hair, but the kid is a girl.

"Yes," the star says, because it's easier than the truth. "Are you okay?"

The girl nods and the lack of hesitation in that stabs something deep inside David. There's no way that she can be comfortable, kneeling in the shallow space below the bench. There's barely enough room for her there, bent flat over her legs with her hands tied to a metal ring beside her. She can't possibly sit up or move far at all with such a short length of rope. Not to mention, there are visible bruises along her bared arms. The fact that she can consider her current position 'okay' is a terrifying concept.

Setting his jaw, David makes a decision. "Right, look, we're gonna get you out of here," he says. "Les, give me your knife." The girl flinches when Les draws the short blade from his belt, passing it to Davey. "We're here with the rally. Have you heard about it?"

"Course," the girl agrees. Her eyes are fixed on the knife nervously as David starts to saw at the thick tangle of knots holding her hands in place. "S'why we're here," she admits after a second. "Mr. Lewis is s'posed to stop it."

"You're here with Mr. Lewis?" Davey asks, raising an eyebrow. Then he frowns and gestures to the cramped condition. "Is he the one who did this to you?"

The girl's brow furrows, like she's confused by the question. "He's my master," she says simply, shrugging. He doesn't get to examine that response any further because, at that moment, the rope finally breaks. David pulls the frayed ends of the cable from her wrists, tossing them aside, and then offers out a hand to help her down. She wriggles awkwardly out of the space, grimacing as she unfolds from the cramped position, and it takes a minute for her to steady on her feet.

"Les' going to make sure you're safe, okay?" the star says, kneeling down in front of the girl and setting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Our friends can get those cuffs off you, and they'll make sure you're taken care of." He passes the knife back to Les. "Get her to the captain; I'm going to go after Wiesel and find Jack."

"I ain't-" Les starts, but the girl interrupts with, "Wait, Jack _Kelly_?"

Both boys look at her in surprise. "Yes, he was taken by Wiesel," David says, fighting against the surge of hope. "You don't happen to know where they took him, do you?"

"The Wall," she says immediately. "That's what Mr. Lewis said. They was gonna make him go home, 'cause Fey don't cross the Wall 'cause there's no magic."

"Of course," Davey says breathlessly. It makes so much sense, he feels like he should've seen it coming. What better way to make sure Jack can't use his magic against them than to send him where he can't use his magic at all? And then even if he does find his way back, it will just give credence to the idea that Jack sold them out for a chance to go home. But at the same time, now he knows where Jack is, and it's not even that far to the Wall from here. He can go find Jack; he can bring him back. "Thank you so much, uh-"

"Smalls," the girl supplies.

"Thank you, Smalls," the star says.

He makes to stand up, but Smalls grabs his hand frantically. "Wait, my friend," she says insistently. When Davey looks down at her in confusion, she pulls a tiny flower made of string from her pocket. "He's a Fey too, he's here somewhere-"

"I can't," David says apologetically. "I've got to go, I need to find Jack. But Les' going to get you to the crew, and they can help you find your friend."

"But he's in trouble," Smalls protests, her eyes wide. "I can _feel_ it. And his master's-"

"I'm really sorry," the star says. "Really. But our friends can help, I promise." He meets Les' gaze levelly. "Get her to Spot, tell him that the warlocks are planning an ambush, and tell him where I've gone. I'm counting on you, kid."

Les' chin juts as he adopts his expression of fierce determination. "Bring him back," the boy says with a nod. David returns the gesture, then turns and dodges around the edge of the courtyard to get back to the road. 

* * *

Crutchie will give Snyder this much; the warlock has an imagination. As far as punishments go, this is definitely a new one.

The beating was expected. When Snyder discovered that Jack the rabbit had escaped, it didn't surprise Crutchie when the warlock took his anger out on him. A soaking is usually followed by becoming a test subject for Snyder's magical experimentation, which is never a pleasant experience even disregarding how his leg reacts to magic, and then being banished to the tiny corner crawlspace that's been designated his bedroom. This time, the warlock decided to up his game.

His left leg is killing him and Crutchie shifts, desperately trying to find a position that takes some of the weight off his aching limb. Scowling, he tips his head back to look up at his hands, where a chain welded to his cuffs is looped up through a link in the ceiling of the wagon. There's barely enough give for him to get his foot flat on the ground, not that it really helps. Standing for more than a few hours has always been difficult for him, only having the one working leg; he's been stuck here for close to a day and a half now.

Crutchie leans sideways, hoping to ease the burn in his leg, but it's no use. Time to trade off again. Gritting his teeth, he grips the length of chain as firmly as he can and relaxes his leg, letting his arms take all of his body weight. It's painful, even with his upper body strength to help out. The metal cuffs bite into his wrists, and his shoulders, which are already sore and half-asleep from being stretched above his head for so long, shriek when he forces them to flex. Still, at least his leg is getting a moment to rest.

The only thing that helps, that makes it all worth it, is knowing that Jack is safe.

He's not positive that Snyder believed him about how Jack escaped. Between blows, Crutchie had spun a story that a Fey broke into the back of the wagon, raided his trunk for charms, and stole the rabbit. That Crutchie was howling to try and warn the warlock about the break-in before they could get away. Thankfully, Snyder seems to be confident enough that Crutchie isn't capable of any real magic, especially not while as a dog, because that might be the only thing that's saved him this far. There's no saying how long the benefit of the doubt's going to last this time, though.

"Where ya goin'?"

Crutchie lifts his head curiously at the hushed shout from outside the wagon. The voice is young, probably a boy but still the higher pitch of youth. What is a kid doing out on this edge of town? He's not positive where they're at exactly, but Crutchie knows the wagon is on the outskirts of Wall somewhere, Snyder off conferring with the other warlocks as they wait for their next orders from the king.

"It's that one!" This voice is also a child, a girl this time, and it triggers something in the back of his mind. Crutchie's always had an excellent memory for people, and he knows he recognizes this voice. It only takes a second longer for the connection to click; the girl from the Keep, the new Fey slave with the bloodied wrists. Smalls.

Skies, what is she doing here? _How_ is she here? If Snyder catches her...

Getting his foot beneath him again, Crutchie tries to call out for her, but the sound is dissolved before it can leave his mouth. Right, of course, the muzzle. The aching of his muscles has taken so much of his focus, he's been able to mostly forget about the stretch of hexed leather that's buckled around his head. After all, it's not like he's had anyone to talk to anyway. It's a bit of cruel irony, really; despite spending so much of the last few years as a dog, it's as a human that he's forced into a muzzle for the first time.

"We's s'posed ta' get back ta' the rally," the boy's voice says, sounding anxious.

"C'mon!" Smalls hisses in response. Every muscle in Crutchie's body is tensed as he strains his ears for any other sounds from outside the wagon. Are those footsteps? Are there any warlocks nearby who might catch these young kids on their apparent suicide mission? For a minute, he misses being a dog and the better hearing that comes with it.

There is a creak – that bottom step always groans at even the slightest pressure – as someone takes the steps at the back of the wagon slowly. "Hello?" Smalls whispers through the door tentatively. Crutchie wants to shout, wants to tell her to get away from this place before one of the warlocks comes back and catches her, but the leather is hexed to absorb all sounds. Even _he_ can't hear his voice, magically caught in his throat, not that it stops him from trying.

"See, ain't no one there," the boy says. "C'mon, let's go."

Smalls makes a tiny, angry noise. "Shh, I gotta check." A pause, and then the door handle turns. Another pause and the door inches open just a crack. Crutchie's heart is hammering in his chest when a pair of brown eyes peer through the gap. "Crutchie!" Her voice is probably louder than she meant for it to be in her surprise, and he cringes nervously, hoping there's no one close enough to hear it.

Smalls throws the door open and scrambles into the back of the wagon. She looks a bit paler than the last time he saw her, a line of bruises up her arm that look suspiciously like fingerprints, but she manages a smile beneath her look of worry. Smalls wraps a crushing hug around his waist before turning back to the door. "Les, come help me."

A boy climbs into the wagon behind her, shutting the door behind him. He looks close to her age, his face soft and eager despite his obvious nerves. There's a slightly-too-large bowler hat pulled down to his ears, and he's clutching a dagger in one hand. When his gaze lands on Crutchie, he balks in horror. "The hells did they do ta' him?" he whispers.

"Just help me get him _down_ ," Smalls says sharply. Crutchie shakes his head, giving her a stern look, but she merely frowns back at him. Smalls gets up onto a crate and leans out to work the buckles of the muzzle. Even just the slight addition of her weight as she clings to him for balance is painful, the pressure of the cuffs cutting the circulation to his fingers.

Smalls loosens the top buckle, tugging the muzzle down over his chin, and Crutchie takes an overcompensating breath. "Smalls, you gotta get outta here," he says, voice a bit ragged after so long in silence. "Snyder could come back any minute."

"Snyder?" the little boy, Les, echoes fearfully. There's no cuffs or scars on his wrists, but that kind of fear at Snyder's name can only mean he's Fey too.

"I ain't goin' without you," Smalls says stubbornly. Her eyes have moved up to the chain attached to the ceiling, glaring at it like she can scare it into submission. "Les, you know how ta' get these off?"

"Not alone," Les responds, nose wrinkled. "Takes the fellas like three or four guys. This is why we's s'posed to go to the captain first."

"He's right," Crutchie interjects. "Get outta here. You can come back for me later, okay? I'll be fine."

The girl turns that furious look on him now. "You ain't fine. I _felt_ it." Crutchie's confusion must show on his face because she adds, "S'my Knack. I can touch things, if they's important, and feel 'bout people from 'em." From her pocket, she lifts a piece of twine that's been knotted into the shape of a flower.

Crutchie's eyes widen, and he feels something warm in his chest at the realization she kept the silly trinket; that it merits as something _important_ to her. "That's really sweet," he says, swallowing around the lump in his throat, "but I'll be okay, I promise. But I won't be if you get caught."

"I ain't leavin'," Smalls repeats. "'Cause I feel it. And you helped me when I was scared and hurt, and I'm gonna help you." Without leaving room for him to argue, she turns back to Les again. "Find somethin' we can use ta' pry that ring down."

"It won't come loose," Crutchie says. "Snyder melted it inta' the wood."

Les bites his lip, tucking his blade back into its sheath. "I can't break cuffs," he says thoughtfully, "but I can maybe break the chain, if it ain't jinxed." Both kids look at Crutchie, who grudgingly shakes his head. "Okay, um, lemme find a step."

"Wait!" Crutchie says when Smalls makes to jump down off the crate to make room for Les. "If youse gonna use magic in here, put the muzzle back on me." Both of the children frown at him, and he can see the argument on the tip of Smalls' tongue. "I got hex marks on my leg," he hurries to explain. "Magic'll trigger it, and if I make noise, all them warlocks is gonna come runnin'."

"It's gonna hurt ya?" Smalls asks, and her voice is fragile as she meets his eyes.

Crutchie smiles encouragingly. "I can take it. But if ya wanna go get more folks who can do this, you can. I can wait. Not like I's goin' anywhere," he finishes with a smirk. Smalls promptly shakes her head. "Okay, then if he's gonna do magic, you gotta put the muzzle back. It's okay, sweetie. I trust ya, just like ya trusted me with those bracelets, remember?"

Smalls worries her lip and then nods. Crutchie tips his head to give her better access as she tugs the leather back into place and fastens the buckle. He meets her gaze, giving her a reassuring nod. As she hops down from the crate to trade places with Les, Crutchie coils his hands around the chain again and takes a steadying breath. It never makes a difference, knowing that the pain is coming, but he's determined to hide it from these kids as best as he can. No point in scaring them.

Les has stacked a second box on top of the first so he can reach the chain above Crutchie's head. He hesitates, glancing between Smalls and Crutchie. After earning a nod from both, he furrows his brow in concentration and a silvery white light blossoms in his palms. Crutchie forces himself not to wince as a spark travels through the marks on his leg, because he knows it's just going to get worse. Then Les' fingers close around the chain just above one hand, and Crutchie's vision goes white.

When Crutchie comes back to himself, he is staring up at the ceiling that's suddenly far away. His muscles ache all over, both from the day and a half of uncomfortable standing and the after-effects of the magic. He can feel a dull burn beneath his cuffs, and his crippled leg is still spasming. Then there's a pair of tiny, cool hands on his cheeks and a pair of large brown eyes fill his vision.

"Shh, sorry," Smalls murmurs, her eyes wide. She brushes a thumb across his cheek and it's only the feeling of moisture that makes him realize she's wiping a tear away. Then her fingers jump to the buckles on the muzzle and she fumbles them both open, jerking the leather away and throwing it to the other side of the wagon fiercely. "M'sorry. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Crutchie says, summoning up a reassuring smile. He lifts his hands curiously; the chain broke just four links away from a cuff, so the rest of the length of chain hangs from the other hand. He struggles into a sitting position, with a little help from Smalls, and finds Les kneeling beside him, looking shaken. "You did good, kid," Crutchie says gratefully. "Thanks."

Les still looks uncertain, but he nods. "Can ya walk? 'Cause we really gotta get back ta' the rally," the boy says fervently. "The captain can help get them cuffs off ya both. And I gotta tell him 'bout the warlocks comin', and 'bout Jack."

"Jack?" Crutchie's focus snaps to the boy, his heart hammering. "What about Jack?"

"That he didn't run 'way," Les says, frowning at Crutchie's sudden intensity. "I knew he didn't. The weasel took him but Davey's gonna get him back."

Crutchie's mind is reeling as he tries to process this new information. Wiesel took Jack? Why? _How_? He can't imagine that there is anything good to come from that, and Crutchie's hands are shaking. So much for protecting Jack. So much for keeping him safe. Of course Pulitzer would go after Jack, with the Fey rebellion going strong. "Where did they take him?" Crutchie asks.

"The Wall," Les says. "But it's okay, 'cause Davey's gonna get him."

A sudden thought occurs to Crutchie and he feels dread curl in his gut. "Wait, Davey? The _star_?" Les' wide-eyed stare is answer enough. Crutchie curses, fumbling upright despite the protests of his aching body. He retrieves his crutch from the corner and wraps the longer trailing length of chain around his wrist to keep it out of the way. "I gotta go."

"Where?" Smalls says breathlessly.

"The Wall," Crutchie says. He shoves the back door of the wagon open and nearly falls down the steps in his haste. "You two get back ta' the rally, keep an eye out for each otha. Let the Fey know what the warlocks is plannin'." Crutchie limps around to the front of the wagon, starting on the buckles that fasten the horses' tack to the wagon rails. He has the palomino stallion freed before a hand on his arm stops him.

"Crutchie." Smalls looks so young and scared when he glances down at her. "What's'a matter?"

"It's okay," he says, brushing her ragged bangs off her forehead in a quick gesture meant to comfort. "I'm okay, and Les' gonna take care of you 'til I get back." He glances toward the boy for confirmation, and Les nods determinedly. "I'll be back soon. I just gotta do this first."

He needs to hurry. Who knows how much time has already passed? If he doesn't get there in time, if Davey _crosses_ the Wall- Crutchie shakes his head and turns back to the horse. Using the wagon rail for extra support, he hauls himself up onto the back of the shuffling horse.  "Hand me my crutch?"

"What're you doin'?" Les interjects.

Smalls obediently passes the crutch up. Crutchie balances it in his lap and coils the reins tightly around his hands. "I gotta stop Davey from goin' after Jack." He can hear both kids immediately protesting, but Crutchie doesn't have time to explain. He has to get to Davey before he can reach the Wall. So Crutchie flicks the reins and the palomino darts forward, leaving the warlock camp and startled Fey kids in the dust. 

* * *

The road to the Wall is nothing more than a patchy trail of dirt that cuts through grass and trees, the ancient path being slowly reclaimed by nature after so little use. David is alone on the road, and it makes him miss the bustle of the city a little bit. He's not usually one for crowds, after spending centuries alone with nothing but the distant impression of thoughts from his siblings, but what he really misses right now is the organized chaos of the Brooklyn.

Another thing where humanity is changing him, maybe. Humans are such social creatures.

Even his unease at being alone can't put a damper on his enthusiasm, though. Every step closer to the Wall just brings him one step closer to Jack. Davey can't deny that he's scared. Wiesel's taunting comment makes him worried about the condition Jack will be in when he finds him. What did the warlock do to him? How badly hurt is he going to be? But just the thought of finding him, of being able to see for himself that Jack is alive, buoys his spirits.

The star can see the Wall now, a deceptively nondescript stretch of gray stone that spans from horizon to horizon. A large V is broken into it in one spot, several heavy bricks removed and cracked to create an opening just big enough for a person to slip through. It's so innocent, standing there in the middle of the flat plane of grass. Something so powerful disguised as something so simple.

David's pace picks up eagerly, half-jogging as he emerges from the trees. It's only a few yards now. Almost there.

A flicker discolors the air in front of him and the star comes to an abrupt stop as he collides with something solid. Reeling back, he reaches out and he can feel it, this invisible barrier between him and the Wall. "What?"

"Ya didn't think we'd just let ya go wanderin' off, did ya?"

The voice sends a thrill of terror down Davey's spine and he pivots on his heel. There's a wagon parked in the shade of the trees, easily shielded from view from the other direction. Wiesel is smirking as he walks toward the star, flanked by his scowling, hulking goons, and there is a gleam of dark green in his hands. Davey's heart drops into his stomach. He takes a shaking step backward and collides with the unseen barrier again.

"Ya might wanna stop tryna cross the Wall," Wiesel remarks with a raised eyebrow. "That world ain't gonna do ya any favors. No magic over there. Ya know what that means for a star? Youse nothin' more than a hunk'a sparkly rock over there."

Something thrums beneath David's skin, a crawling sense of horror. Is the warlock right? Davey knows that magic doesn't exist on the other side of the Wall, but what does that mean for him? "I'm going to get Jack," the star says resolutely. "I'm going to bring him back, and we're going to win this revolution. You can't stop me."

Wiesel's grin turns dangerous. "Pretty sure I just did." He gestures with one hand, and both of his cronies charge forward on command. Davey draws his sword and swipes, catching one of the cronies in the arm. There's a furious grunt. The other goon grabs David's arm from behind, twisting sharply until the bones of his wrist scrape and the sword slips from his grasp. Another arm loops around his neck, holding tight enough that it's difficult to breathe.

"Easy, boys, don't break him," Wiesel says with a laugh. "As much fun as that would be, Pulitzer's already claimed that honor."

"Let me go!" Davey snarls, free hand clawing at the arm on his throat, but all that accomplishes is making the goon tighten his hold. "You can't do this! You know what'll happen-?"

Wiesel scoffs. "Course I do. His majesty's gonna reward me handsome when I bring you to him. And once he's got that power, once he gives the word, I get to start hunting. We're gonna wipe the useless Fey brats from this kingdom, and I'm going to enjoy that so much."

"You're sick!" says David, nausea burning up his throat. "They're _kids_! And you're a Fey too!"

"Warlock," Wiesel corrects idly. "But I'm not here to argue politics with ya. I'm just here to pick you up for the king. But first-" He nods to his goons; the pressure disappears from around David's neck, and instead, he finds each arm being clutched tightly by a stone-faced boy, holding him in place between them. Wiesel steps forward, grinning. Then he hauls back and punches the star in the stomach.

Davey doubles over as far as he can with his arms still trapped, gasping for air through contracting lungs. Wiesel grabs a fistful of his hair and jerks Davey's head back, so he's forced to look up at the warlock through watering eyes. "Do you know how much trouble youse caused me? You and your little friend?" Another blow to the chest. "I been chasin' you 'cross this whole kingdom, and each time ya got away from me, ya just stirred things up more. Pulitzer's been breathin' down my neck 'cause you just couldn't leave well 'nough alone."

This punch catches David in the cheek and his head snaps to the side, tasting blood on his tongue. He blinks away the spots in his vision, forcing himself to breathe. His heart is pounding in his ears. He got so close, he was so close to getting Jack back, and he was going to be happy. But in the end, he's still here.

Trapped.

Doomed to die.

It feels like his heart is going to burst with how hard it's racing, so loud it's drowning out the sound of Wiesel's ranting. What will Pulitzer think if the star's heart explodes before the king can get his hands on it? It would serve him right. The rhythm is frantic. _Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump._ Except no, that's not his heartbeat. It's getting louder, and as it does, he can hear that it's actually four beats instead of two. _Du-du-du-dum. Du-du-du-dum._ Blurring into each other in an endless, pounding loop.

"What-?"

"Davey, ge'down!"

David ducks on instinct, dropping into something like a crouch as the goons still grip his arms. When he lifts his gaze, he sees a pale horse sprinting directly at them, and the rider is holding up a long, thin weapon. The horse's hooves send up sprays of dirt and grass as it skids around abruptly, and the rider swings his weapon. The blow strikes the goon on Davey's left in the face and he stumbles backward, clawing at Davey's arm for balance.

His fingers catch in the leather band on David's wrist. There's a moment, like time has frozen, where the star sees the goon framed by the gap in the Wall, his eyes wide and his weight pitched back onto his heels. Then, the aged leather breaks with a snap. The goon tips back, mouth opened, but whatever he was about to say never makes it passed his lips as he tumbles through the gap.

His body dissolves as it passes across the Wall; in his place, there is nothing left but a mound of red-brown dirt.

Shouting drags the star's eyes up again, and reality comes back to him in a rush. Wiesel is bellowing, "Oscar, don't let it escape!" The palomino horse whinnies shrilly as the rider jerks it around to face the warlock, lifting his weapon again. The remaining goon twists David's arm up behind his back and all of the sparring practice kicks in; dropping to a knee, the star pitches his weight forward and sends the goon rolling over him. It doesn't work as well as it did with Spot, Oscar not wholly relinquishing his grip and wrenching David's shoulder painfully, but it does give him room to move. So Davey pulls his arm back and slugs the stone-faced boy in the jaw.

"You little-!" The light of Wiesel's fiery magic flares in the corner of Davey's vision and there's a pained scream. The horse skitters, huffing, and a body hits the ground heavily. Still struggling to free his arm, David can't stop himself from glancing up at the crumpled figure. He gets only the vaguest impressions of a young teen boy, cuffed wrists raised to defend himself, before Wiesel pins him by the throat. " _You_!?"

Davey kicks the goon's arm, a cracking sound from his elbow finally managing to loosen the grip enough that he can jerk his arm free. Wiesel's raised hand fills with flames again and the boy on the ground seizes, scream trapped behind the fist at his throat. The star only makes it two steps before a hand loops around his ankle and David hits the ground with a groan. His eyes meet those of the fallen rider, wide and hazel and afraid, before a blow to the back of his head sends Davey spiraling into darkness.  

* * *

_"Jacky!"_

_His heart hammers, his breathing ragged, but he can't stop. They can't stop. No matter how scared he is, they can't stop._

_"C'mon, don't slow down!" The voice is unfamiliar, shaking, both angry and afraid. Despite the quaver in her voice, her hand is solid around his, guiding. "We's so close!"_

_He clings to the other hand, the smaller one that is familiar as his own, woven with his fingers the way it always is. They're gonna make it. They're gonna get free. No more fear, no more hurting. Just a little bit further and they can be safe._

_Then suddenly the fingers slide loose with a jerk. A flash of vicious violet and a scream. A piercing, terrified scream that feels like a knife in his chest. He wheels around frantically, but she is tugging at his other hand. "We can't stop!"_

_"Jacky!" The scream is horrified, hands clawing at the grass desperately from beneath a net of black and violet sparks._

_"No!" He tries to pull his hand free, but she won't let go, clutching his wrist with both hands. But he needs to get back. He has to save him. He_ promised _. He can't leave him. "No, lemme go!"_

_"M'sorry, m'sorry. But we gotta go!" And then there are arms around his waist, lifting him off the ground all too easily. She ignores his struggling, his begging and screaming, and they move further and further away. All he can see is that face, white with panic and pain and betrayal._

_"Lemme go! I gotta go back!"_

_"Jacky!"_

_The pain is overwhelming, tearing him apart from the inside, as he watches the face shrink to a tiny pinprick of white among the darkness. It feels like fire, like every muscle has been flayed open, like the burn of the cuffs when he dared to try and use his magic. He can hear her murmuring apologies over and over and over, but his mind is filled with nothing but that scream._

"Jack! Christ, you fitting again?"

 _He sobs, feeling the searing as magic twists through him. A punishment. Not punishment enough because he_ left _. He left him. He was supposed to protect him, but he left him behind._

"Ch'r..."

"Hey, c'mon, sugar. Youse okay. Youse safe."

_Wait, that doesn't sound right. He knows that voice, but she shouldn't be here. Not like that. Her voice is supposed to be higher and younger, not smooth and matured; cracked and scared, not calming and steady. This voice isn't the one that carried him away. This voice is the one that bandaged a lifetime of scrapes and slipped him treats when he hadn't eaten enough and asked him to paint a new backdrop with a knowing smile._

"It's okay, Jack, I gotcha now. Just breathe, honey."

_"Jacky!" There are two voices now, layering over each other; one high and one deeper, but both as panicked and desperate as they call for him. He's supposed to save these people. He loves them. He would die for them, can't live without them. He needs to save them, so why is he here? Why is he still moving away?_

_In the distance, he can see them, tearful eyes beneath a web of magic and an inky blade pressed up below a stubborn jaw. Both of them so trusting, staring at him, faithful to the idea that he is going to save them, but he can't stop._

_Why can't he stop?_

"Ch'rl..."

"Jack?"

_"Jacky!"_

_And then a suffocating pressure stops him short. He's trapped, held in place by coils of fire. Molten metal, emerald green, tightening around him like a python. He can still hear them, pleading for his help, but everything is burning, burning, burning. Cold eyes, a taunting smile, a mocking voice, "But first..." A skeleton hand, bones charred and palm filled with flames, plunges straight through his ribcage to dig claws into his heart._

_No, not his heart. It's not his heart that is torn free and set ablaze, and this hurts so much worse. No, not like this, not now. Slack lips, no longer twisted in a fond smirk; dexterous fingers, bent and broken and limp over the gaping hole in his chest; those eyes, those too-blue eyes like the midnight sky over Santa Fe, unfocused and blank._

A cloying, bone-deep fear floods him, threatens to drown him, and Jack Kelly bolts awake with a scream. "Davey!"


	9. Seize the Day

Spot Conlon does not often admit that he is in over his head. As captain, he isn't allowed the luxury of being in over his head, even when he is, in fact, in over his head. Other people might have the time for it, but he doesn't. Spot has to be in complete control at all times, for the sake of his crew, so even when he's feeling utterly swamped, he puts on a brave face and keeps everyone else on track.

However, as he stands next to three of the most powerful young nobles in the kingdom and surveys the surging mass of Fey rebels in the town square, he reluctantly has to admit that he's feeling a little bit - _overwhelmed_.

"I don't like it," the captain mutters to the only other non-nobility in their group. Racetrack gives a curious hum around the cigar he's chewing on, prompting him on with a nudge of the elbow. "Why ain't he done nothin' yet?"

"Dramatic tension?" Race suggests flippantly, but Spot can hear the undercurrent of nerves in the blonde's voice. "Ya know how them rich fellas is, always tryna make a big entrance."

Spot scoffs. "Yeah, that's what I'm 'fraid of."

The fact of the matter is, it's been hours since they openly challenged Pulitzer's demand for them to stand down. It's been hours since they stood up as a joined force and told Pulitzer to give it his best shot. And in those hours, they've gotten no response. No threats or bargains; no shows of force; not even just the presence of additional warlocks or Bulls. No word at all. There's no way that Pulitzer will simply let this blatant defiance stand, but the longer he takes to retaliate, the worse Spot's anxiety gets.

Because whatever Pulitzer is planning, it won't be good, but the waiting is so much worse.

For the time being, the Fey in the square are still full of energy. They are buoyed, exhilarated by their show of rebellion, but Spot knows that isn't going to last forever. Soon enough, the waiting is going to start wearing on them, too. Which means that they're going to be left with a whole square full of restless, scared kids, many of whom have just recently been given access to their magic again for the first time in who-knows-how-long and have no real concept of how to control it.

Spot clenches his jaw, curling his hands into fists to stop himself from fidgeting. Needless to say, that's a situation he'd rather avoid. His magic is sparking under his skin, flaring up with his nerves in an innate defensive reflex, and he takes a long, slow breath to ease it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the calculating look Race gives him. Of course the stupid punk knows his tells.

"Any word?" Katherine asks abruptly. The question is pointless because she would know if they had heard anything yet, but he gets the impression she just needs to break the silence. To feel like they're doing something, moving towards something. It's a feeling the captain can understand.

Spot glances at her, standing between the two nobles who are apparently her friends, and can't help but think somehow she fits better with his crew than these men. The captain has a hard time trusting them, despite her assurances. He knows that they've risked a lot by being here, that they are putting a lot on the line to stand with them, but a lifetime of being sent running by bullies acting in the name of their families is a difficult notion to shake. It doesn't help that Kinsley keeps giving Race looks that are a bit too _attentive_ for Spot's liking. 

"Davey shoulda been back by now," Race says, voicing what they're all thinking.

"He's fine," Spot says firmly. When Katherine raises an eyebrow at his certainty, he adds, "I figure if Pulitzer'd got hands on him, he'd make sure we know it. Seems the gloatin' sort." Katherine nods in agreement, which helps to settle some of Spot's nerves. As long as Davey's still safe, as long as there's still a chance of him and Jack coming back soon, they've got a shot of making this happen.

"We should have a plan in place," Kinsley says, adjusting his glasses. "For what to do, if there has been no response before the evening. We can't just camp out in this square for the night. It's to be expected that the town's citizens will not take kindly to a long-term occupation."

"Of course," Katherine agrees. "We need to have a strategy ready, for every scenario."

Spot nods. This is where he excels. The captain has only gotten this far in life by planning for every possible outcome. Including... Frowning, Spot pointedly drops a possessive hand onto Race's hip. Kinsley's eyes immediately widen and flick away. Race glances sideways, raising an eyebrow at the obvious gesture. Spot smirks challengingly and the blonde rolls his eyes, but there's a hidden smile dancing at the corner of his lips.

"I say if Pulitzer thinks he's gonna wait us out, we don't give him the chance," the captain says, turning his attention back to the group. "Dunno what he's hopin' ta'chieve by makin' us sweat, but I'm over it. Let's move."

"It's basic chess," Hearst says with a decisive nod. "Each turn is timed. Pulitzer has run out the clock."

"'Xactly," Spot agrees. He's admittedly never played chess, but he understands the concept enough to tell that the nobleman is on his side. "We gave him his turn. S'our turn again."

Kinsley fidgets his cuff. "What do you suggest?"

There's a long moment before Spot realizes that they are all staring at him expectantly. Somehow the nobles are all actually deferring to him for advice, and the thought turns his head. Sure, he knows he's clever at this, has far more practical experience in fighting, but he didn't expect the educated fellas to recognize or respect that. It's only the skim of Race's hand over the small of his back that stirs him into motion.

"I say we stop waitin' for Pulitzer to bring the fight ta' us," the captain says resolutely. "Whole reason we picked Wall for the rally is 'cause it's close to the castle. If Pulitzer thinks he can sit up in his tower and ignore us, I say we show him otha'wise."

"A march on the castle?" Katherine asks, and although she sounds nervous, her brow is furrowed in a way that says she's giving it thought.

Race clears his throat. "We all went inta' this knowin' it could come ta' this," he points out. "Ain't like we expected them ta' give up without a fight. But we got more kids here 'an we counted on, and most of 'em outta cuffs. Pulitzer'd be dumb not ta' worry 'bout this mob knockin' on his door."

"Cap'n!"

The shout carries over the general ruckus, high voice easily piercing through the noise, and it pulls all of their focus down into the crowd. It doesn't take long for Spot to pick out the familiar bowler hat weaving through everyone else. "Les," Spot barks, stepping around the stall to intercept the boy. Les is practically bouncing, eyes wide and anxious, and he's clutching the hand of another young kid that is hovering behind him. "Les, what happened?"

"I went ta' find Jack," Les says and sets his jaw in that stubborn way of his. "'Cause I'm good at sneakin', but then Davey was there, and we was listenin', but then we found Smalls. And they was talkin' 'bout Jack and an ambush, and Davey was-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," the captain says, and Les snaps his jaw shut immediately. "Okay, step by step, kid. D'you say you was with Davey?" Les nods, and Spot curses under his breath. "Skies, when I told him ta' take a crew member with him..."

"I was a'ready there," Les interjects. "I was gonna find where they took Jack, so we could go get him. But then Davey was there, so we sneaked together, 'cause of my Knack. The Weasel was there, talkin' 'bout how he got rid of Jack 'cause the king told him to. I _toldja_ Jack didn't run away."

Spot lets out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right. I'mma ignore the fact ya ran off on ya own for a minute, but we's gonna come back ta' that later." Les winces, but nods. "'Kay, so who's this?" he asks, gesturing to the Fey kid half-hidden behind Les.

"Smalls," Les says, tugging lightly to pull the kid forward. "She helped us find Jack."

"You found him?" Race asks, surprised.

"Sorta. Davey's gonna get him," says Les. "'Cept then we went ta' help Smalls' friend, 'cause Snyder had him all tied up awful, and we got him down but then he said he's gonna stop Davey from findin' Jack and he took off."

"Crutchie ain't gonna hurt no one," Smalls suddenly interrupts, her eyes wide and insistent. "I know it."

Spot stops breathing for a second. He doesn't realize that he's shaking until he feels a firm hand settle between his shoulder blades, and it grounds him enough to pull himself back together. "Crutchie?" he repeats, meeting the girl's gaze steadily. "Your friend is called Crutchie?"

Smalls nods. "'Cause he got a crutch," she explains, a bit redundantly. "But he ain't gonna hurt no one, I swear it. I dunno why he took off, but he's _good_. He taked care of me. He made me bracelets, so the cuffs don't hurt."

"Wait, what about Davey?" Katherine says before Spot can continue his questions. "You said he's going to get Jack? Where?"

"The Wall," Les answers. "Weasel took him over the Wall, but Davey's gonna go get him back."

Katherine's hand snaps out and grabs the captain's wrist painfully. "The Wall," she gasps, face pale and eyes wild. "There's no magic on the other side of the Wall."

The answer hits Spot like a physical blow. "Which means if Davey crosses it..." the captain starts slowly, and Race's fingers dig into Spot's back as he curses. "Skies, we have to stop him."

"What?" It comes from several people at once, but Les is the one that Spot bothers to answer.

"Davey can't cross the Wall," the captain says briskly. "It'll k-" Spot doesn't believe in sugarcoating things, but there's something in the blind panic on Les' face that makes the words catch on his tongue. "It'll hurt him, 'cause what he is. But don't worry, we's gonna stop him."

"Bill, I need your carriage," Katherine is saying behind him. The noble makes a startled noise, and she hurries on, "I will explain everything later, I promise, but this is important."

"I'm comin' with ya," Spot says instantly, turning to face the princess.

"Like hells," Race says, grabbing the captain by the shoulder. "Cap'n, we need ya here."

Spot shakes his head. "Not righ'now," he says. "Not while we's just waitin'. Youse guys can handle 'til we get back." He steps closer and drops his voice so only Race will be able to hear. "Race, what if it's really Crutchie? I gotta know."

The blonde's expression softens. Race drags a hand through his curls and groans. "A'ight, fine," he says, shaking his head. Before Spot can turn away, hands fist in his shirt and he's dragged up into a bruising kiss.

Growing up, Spot never knew what 'home' meant. His parents ran him off as soon as his magic revealed itself, and after a year on the run, he was tossed in the Refuge. Oddly, that's where he discovered the most important thing about what home really is, even though he wouldn't fully understand it until years later; home isn't a place, home is _people_. The first time he ever felt at home, he was keeping watch over three sleeping, starving Fey boys in the tiny forest hollow where they'd taken shelter for the night. The second time, a vicious argument over a cheated game of cards turned into grasping hands and shuddering breaths in the darkness, and a new addition to their tiny crew. 

If anyone ever asked him where he called home, Spot would tell them that it's the Brooklyn. His home is comprised of sails and ropes and planks and nets. The truth, however, is that his home is made of a rotating squad of roughhousing teenagers; of a steadfast first mate and a wry helmsman, and most of all, of a fiercely loyal mechanic who never stops running his mouth and always tastes a little like those cheap, bitter cigars and engine grease and lightning.

Even after being together more than three years now, kissing Race always feels like coming home after a long time away.

They are both panting when they finally break apart, Race's head bent to press his forehead against Spot's. "You betta come back ta' me alive," the blonde hisses through his teeth, hands gripping at Spot's shoulder and waist hard enough to leave marks, "or I'mma kill ya myself."

And the captain can't help but laugh, because despite the severity of the situation, despite the real and ever-present danger that they've put themselves into and the genuine chance of it all falling down around them, that's just so Racer. So Spot kisses him again, a little more softly this time, and grins. "Yeah, love ya too, punk."

Race scoffs, rolling his eyes as he draws back, but there's a light in his gaze as he pulls his usual, sarcastic demeanor back into place. "Now go, both'a ya," he says, flapping a dismissive hand. "'Fore ya miss all the 'citement."

"Plan stands," the captain says, glancing to the two nobles. "We ain't back in an hour, you lot move on the castle and we'll meetcha there. Show Pulitzer who he's messin' with." Race scowls, looking ready to argue again, but Hearst and Kinsley both nod with grim expressions.

Spot glances at Katherine, who nods and gestures for him to follow. They sprint around the edge of the square until they reach the place where Hearst's wagon has been abandoned in a blocked-up roadway. As Katherine flicks the reins, urging the horses into backing the cart free, Spot fidgets with the tatty red handkerchief tied around his right wrist.

A captain isn't supposed to leave his crew, but he _has_ to know. After all, his original crew started with - never would have existed without - a stubborn kid that smiled too much even though he couldn't walk. Spot left him behind once; he won't make that mistake twice. Besides, troublemakers or not, Jack and Davey are part of his crew now too.

Katherine _hyah!_ s loudly, sending the carriage clattering along the road toward the southern edge of the city. People shout and dodge out of the way, the horses slowing for nothing as they eat up the miles between the city center and the distant Wall, but Spot can't shake the feeling that they're running on borrowed time.

* * *

Hands cradle his face and force him to focus, not letting him look away from the large, dark eyes staring back at him. "Jack, look at me." Her voice is soft but resolute, the one that tells him there's going to be no talking back. His breaths shake into him as he meets her eyes, makes himself focus on only that in the middle of the racing panic in his head. "That's it, honey, you just keep lookin' at me. Youse okay. Youse safe now, sugar. Medda gotcha."

"Medda?" Another time, when he's more aware, Jack will be embarrassed by the quiver in his voice; right now, he is just so grateful to feel safe that when Miss Medda nods, he crumples into her embrace.

"Youse okay, honey, youse okay," she murmurs as she wraps her arms around him, rocking gently as he shakes against her. He breathes her in, the floral perfume and face powder and eucalyptus laundry soap, and finally feels safe. It doesn't matter what he's been through in the last few weeks, it doesn't matter what his own fears are screaming against the back of his skull, Medda will never let him get hurt. "Oh, sugar, what they done ta' you?" she whispers, and her voice is thick.

"I messed up, Medda," Jack admits, voice cracking. "I messed it all up." In between broken sobs, Jack tells her everything. He tells her about a fallen star, stubborn and righteous and so very far from home. He tells her about the runaway princess who wants to change the world, and the flying pirate ship crewed by fugitive orphans. He tells her about the brother that got left behind, and he doesn't miss the way her grip tightens. And he tells her about a revolution that's gone so far off the rails he doesn't know where to begin.

"And it don't matter 'cause it was all lies anyway," he finishes with a desperate huff. "I was makin' 'em do it the whole time, with this stupid Knack I dunno how ta' work, and now they's all wrapped up in that mess and I'm here." He drops his hands into his lap, looking around, and for the first time, he properly takes in his surroundings. He's sitting on the settee in Miss Medda's dressing room, the exact same place he'd been those short weeks ago when she first told him about the world on the other side of the Wall.

It feels so impossible that his world could change so much in such a short time. He doesn't feel like the same boy who lit that Babylon candle desperate for an escape.

"Now you listen to me, Jack Kelly," Medda says, and she cocoons his cheeks in her palms again to fix him with a severe look. "I know I don't know all 'bout what you been through, but I do know that there's no way ya made those kids do anythin' they didn't wanna do."

"But my Knack," Jack argues. "I _felt_ it, Meds. Ev'rytime I was up there, tellin' them kids ta' fight back, I could feel that magic unda my skin."

Medda shakes her head. "No, it don't work that way," she says. "Magic can't make a person do somethin' they don't wanna. Ain't no magic in the world can take away free will. If it could, they wouldn't be needin' those." Jack follows her gaze and he can't stop himself from flinching when he sees what's sitting on the rug by her foot: a pair of cracked, iron cuffs. He draws his arms against his stomach, distinctly aware of the still-tender skin around his wrists, raw and red.

"They came off?" he asks distractedly because he doesn't want to think about the rest of it just yet. 

"Course," Medda says. "There's no magic this side of the Wall. Things like those, made from magic, they just sort of fall apart when they cross over here." She holds out her hands between them, pushing aside the layer of gaudy bangles she always wears - has always worn, as long as he's ever known her, and it never occurred to him that they were anything more than an accessory.

Beneath, there are the faintest pale scars at the outer edges of her wrist, shadows of a lifetime ago. Jack reaches out to touch them and Medda holds his hand there tenderly, her own thumb brushing over the raised scarlet welts on his wrist. "But just 'cause the magic ain't here, doesn't mean it don't still leave marks on us. And it ain't just the ones you can see."

"I dunno what I'm doin', Medda," Jack admits hopelessly.

"You're doin' what ya know is right," Miss Medda says fervently. She pushes his hair back, brushing a thumb across his cheek to catch a stray tear. "Jack Kelly, I been keepin' an eye on you since you was five years old. You been gettin' into messes your whole life, always gettin' into trouble with someone or another. Given me my fair share of heart troubles, you stumblin' in here covered in bruises with folks on your heels.

"Then you come fallin' through the Wall, half-dead and Bound, and I ain't never been so scared in my life. Here I am, waitin' for a letter from Santa Fe, and instead, you've been over there, gettin' yourself into the biggest possible mess ya could find. And I'll tell ya, I never been so scared for ya, but I also never been so proud of you, sugar."

Jack glances up, startled, to meet Medda's watery eyes. "I knew, from the first time I looked at ya, that you were somethin' special," she says. "Could just feel it. And ya always have been, all that charm and talent ya got. But this here, listenin' to ya talk 'bout helpin' all them kids, that's what makes me know I was right. 'Cause no matter what, my Jack Kelly always does what he knows is right in the end."

"I gotta go back," Jack says, and even though he is shaking, he can feel his resolve hardening in his chest. He thinks back over the pale, upturned faces of all those kids in the camp, the ones who were looking to him for a better future. He thinks about his friends from the Brooklyn, who just want to be able to earn a day's pay for honest work. He thinks about Davey, who has never once lost faith in him even when Jack's given him no reason to keep believing. "I gotta finish this."

It's only a matter of minutes before Jack is on his feet and ready to go, pushing through the lingering ache and stiffness in his body by determination alone. "They need me," he says when Medda tries to protest that he needs rest. "Rally was s'posed to start at sunrise. People's gonna wonder where I's at."

"I know, I just - I worry," Medda says, dragging him into another hug. Jack clings to her, losing himself in the comfort of her embrace for a minute before he steels himself and draws back. 

"I'mma come back, soon's it's over," Jack promises. "Letcha know I'm okay. I promise. But righ'now, I got someone on the other side the Wall pro'lly worryin' himself sick too."

"The star?" Medda guesses, and she laughs when Jack looks up in surprise. "Dontcha gimme that look. I've been around, I know what it looks like when a boy's in love."

Jack ducks his head, feeling the heat crawling up the back of his neck. "That obvious?"

Medda chuckles. "Shakespeare himself couldn't write lovesick as much as is on your face when you talked 'bout your star."

"And you ain't - I mean, 'cause we's both fellas," Jack trails off, trying to think of how to phrase it.

"Jack Kelly." Medda cups his chin in one palm, tipping his face up so he is forced to meet her eyes. "All I've ever wanted for you was to be happy. And the smile that boy puts on your face? Well, I love him already."

Jack feels his heart leap in his chest. It's like a weight he didn't even know existed has been removed now that he knows Medda approves. There are few people in the world whose opinions he cares about, but she makes the top of the list. "I can't wait for ya to meet him, Meds," he says eagerly, going back to trading out his singed shirt for the replacement Medda borrowed from one of her stagehands. "He's the best, youse gonna love him. Real smart, and he knows all kindsa stories, almost as good at tellin' as you." He finishes with the buttons, moves on to rolling his sleeves. "And he's damn fierce and stubborn. He knew I's here, he'd pro'lly come drag me back ta' the Rally himself."

"I'd hope not," Medda says with a chuckle. "He betta be smarter than to cross the Wall."

Jack frowns, something cold he can't explain trickling down his spine at the innocuous comment. "Whatcha mean?"

"Well, he's a star," Medda says. "And there's no magic this side."

The truth hits Jack like a steam engine, his heart jumping into his throat. His gaze darts to the broken remains of his cuffs on the rug, and Medda's words seem to echo in the back of his head; _things like those, made from magic, they just sort of fall apart when they cross over here._ "Davey can't cross the Wall."

A sudden, ice-cold panic seizes his heart and Jack stammers a hasty goodbye to Medda over his shoulder as he bolts out the door. The streets of New York feel alien and unfamiliar as he sprints down paths he's walked most of his life, the city that's always been home suddenly striking him as wrong. People protest as he races passed but he doesn't slow, a frantic, desperate need pushing him on.

There's no reason to think Davey will come after him. He probably doesn't even know where Jack's _at_ to follow. All the same, the crushing panic is a weight on Jack's chest, infinitely more painful than the burns Wiesel left on his skin. There's no reason, but he has to know. Just to be sure. He thinks of the sharp, horrified spasm of pain in his heart that woke him in the first place and pushes himself faster.

Careening around a corner so hard he nearly falls, Jack sees the gap in the Wall ahead of him. The guard is crouched by the gap, but he looks up when he hears Jack's pounding footsteps. "-the hell? Told Miss Larkin to keep you 'way from here."

Jack opens his mouth to respond but then his eyes fall to the ground by the guard's feet and his words die on his tongue. There, piled on the stones, is a mound of dark, red-brown earth. "What's that?" he asks, a crack in his voice betraying his nerves.

"Dunno," the guard admits, glancing down at the dirt again. "Came through from the otha side. I dunno what to make of it. Ain't had nothin' come over in years. Then you come through, beat all ta' hell, and if that ain't weird enough, now _this_."

Something in the pile catches Jack's eye and he crouches opposite the guard, reaching out to card his fingers through the damp, clumped dirt. His hand has stained the color of rust when it comes free, but all he can focus on is the length of braided leather in his palm. Spot's bracelet, one of the ones he gave to Davey. ... _they just sort of fall apart when they cross over here._ "No."

"Wha's'at?" the guard asks but Jack doesn't answer. His hands are shaking, his brain struggling to reject the evidence in front of him. He grew up being told that stars are nothing more than rock because, on this side of the Wall, they _are_. If Davey crossed over...

"No, no, he can't-" Jack swallows hard, stumbling upright and clutching the bracelet like a lifeline. It's got to be a ruse, a trick. Pulitzer having one last go at Jack. Except, if that's true, then Pulitzer has Davey- "Jesus, no, Davey." Jack shoves the guard aside, ignoring his shout of protest, and jumps through the gap in the Wall.

The world blurs around him, colors shifting and bleeding into each other for a split second, and then he blinks and the stone alleyway is an open stretch of grass. Jack staggers, disoriented both by the change in scenery and the sudden buzz of his magic sparking to life beneath his skin again, chasing away the hollowness in his bones. Shaking his head, he looks around frantically for any sign of life. The grass is trampled, burnt black in a few places, but there is no one nearby, no visible person for yards to where the grass turns to forest.

Jack's gaze turns back to the bracelet still clutched in his hand. As the truth sinks in, he feels bile rise, hot and acidic in his throat. Davey's gone. He crossed the Wall, and there's nothing left of him but a pile of stardust and a broken bracelet. Jack's lost him. Forever. 

* * *

Somehow, in the mad scramble to plan and organize after Spot and Lady Katherine take off, Race finds himself thrust into the position of leader. It's an unfamiliar role for the mechanic; he's about fifth in line on the Brooklyn's mostly unofficial chain of command, and he prefers it that way. He's good with enforcing other people's orders, but he's not particularly fond of being the one to give the orders himself. Yet when Les reminds them all of a little detail he learned - that the warlocks are preparing an ambush - it's Race that everyone defers to for their next move.

"Right, well we can't 'xactly march on the castle if we's surrounded," the mechanic says, earning nods from the rest of their little planning committee - the two noblemen, Finch, and Specs. "And we can't take 'em on all at once."

"Surely we have numbers on our side," Kinsley says, frowning. "Even if every warlock in the kingdom is here, which is doubtful, their numbers are still less than a hundred in all. There are several hundred Fey here."

"And most'a them has never used their magic 'fore," Finch counters and shakes his head. "They been in cuffs all their lives. Even the ones ain't been Bound pro'lly don't got much practice in fightin' with magic. It ain't somethin' ya can pick up ova'night."

"We send them kids up 'gainst warlocks, they's sittin' ducks," Race finishes pointedly. "Cannon fodder at best."

Hearst grimaces. "So, strategically speaking, our best bet would be to take them on individually, correct? But how do we do that?"

"Gotta catch 'em off guard," Race says. "'Cording ta' Les and Snipes, the warlocks are in clusters all 'round the city. Couple here, couple there, makin' a loose circle, right? So we take the Fey what _can_ fight, and we take out those clusters one at a time, quiet as we can."

"That-" Hearst and Kinsley exchange bemused glances, before the latter nods. "That could work."

Finch snorts. "Do ya one betta. Hey Racer, betcha five coin this plan don't work."

The trickle of magic, a sudden warm shiver, that rolls down the back of his neck makes Race grin. "I'll take ya bet," he responds and both pirates smirk at the code. When he sees the nobleman looking confused, Race elaborates, "My Knack gives me feelin's about bets. That's a trick we figured long time ago. If we place bets on our plans, my Knack can tell if we got the odds or not."

"That's incredible," Kinsley says appreciatively. "A very clever strategy."

"Ain't perfect, but it's stopped us tryin' things that would'a failed before," Race says with a shrug. "Don't hurt ta' have an idea 'fore we go in." The nobleman suddenly clears his throat and glances away, cleaning his glasses on his waistcoat, and Race has to bite back a snort. Apparently Spot's not-so-subtle warning left an impression on the poor fella.

Hearst steps up to fill the silence. "We should move forward with that plan then," he says decisively. "That way we can be ready to begin our march as soon as possible."

"Soon's the captain and Lady Kath get back," Race corrects pointedly, and ignores the way none of the others acknowledge his comment. They _will_ come back. They have to because Race doesn't want to consider what it means if they don't. "Should split up, cover more ground faster 'fore we lose the element of surprise."

"Two groups?" Specs suggests, glancing out over the crowd and clearly counting their numbers. "If we just take crew members, that'll make - seven each? Dunno if we can risk takin' too much more. Too many fellas leavin' the square's gonna make folks suspicious."

It takes them a few more minutes to iron out the details, and more to get the word spread to the pirates interspersed throughout the square. They trickle out one by one, heading to the preset meeting points. Fifteen minutes later, Race and Finch start leading their half of the crew in a slow, counterclockwise circle around the city center.

They find the first cluster of warlocks just where Sniper said they'd be, two warlocks and two Bulls camped out in an empty shop. They're all at ease, the warlocks chatting and laughing over some joke. Race peers around the edge of the window, getting a quick layout before he turns back to their group to relay the information with a series of silent hand signs. Once each pirate has been assigned a target, Race turns back to the front and takes a deep breath.

"Hey Racer," Finch whispers, smirking, "betcha five it don't work."

And the warm buzz that shudders down his spine brings a mischievous grin to Race's face. He cracks his knuckles and summons up the soft orange glow of his magic. "Deal."

* * *

His head thumps against a hard surface and jerks David back to consciousness with a groan. It takes a minute for him to gather his bearings, blinking against the darkness and the lingering throb in the back of his skull. He's in the back of a cart of some kind, he thinks, judging by the sound of wheels and horses. The space is small and dim, like a closed compartment, the ceiling only inches from his nose and the only light coming through the gaps between boards. His wrists are bound in heavy chains with no visible locks, and there's a cloth gag tied around his head, pulled so tightly between his teeth that it's cutting into his cheeks. He's also not alone.

It's hard to make out the other boy's features in the weak lighting, but it's enough to tell Davey it's the mystery rider. He's still unconscious, bound and gagged like the star, but with the addition of the familiar iron cuffs of a Fey. There's a brilliantly violet bruise forming around one eye and more on his neck. Davey remembers the sound of the boy's screams when Wiesel attacked him, but when David reaches his fingers out, he can feel a steady pulse in the boy's throat.

Davey slumps onto his back in the cramped space, the heat of the boy's body against his side where they are wedged together in the narrow compartment, and he exhales heavily through his nose. This is - _not good_ , to put things mildly. He can't hear any voices from outside the cart, but he knows that Wiesel is out there and that they must be on their way to King Pulitzer. After two weeks of evading the king's men, it's all over.

Stomach twisting, David half-wishes he'd listened to Spot. Only half, because he's sure that even if he'd taken one of the Brooklyn boys with him, it would've just ended in them both being captured. He comforts himself with the knowledge that at least Les will have told the captain where Jack is and about the warlocks' ambush. At least they can be prepared for that.

Not that it'll do any good once Pulitzer gets his hands on Davey's heart.

The cart hits another rut, and as they're jostled in the back, the boy next to David hisses in a sharp breath, eyes snapping open. He blinks a few times, bewildered, before his gaze lands on Davey. The star can actually see the boy processing everything, see the whirlwind of emotions as he slides from confused to eager to afraid. He flexes his jaw, seems to notice the gag, and huffs. Using an elbow, he struggles to shift his position, rolling onto his side slightly although his legs don't seem to cooperate.

The star can't stop himself from flinching when the boy reaches toward him, instinctively on edge after the stressful few days. Wrinkling his nose, the boy holds his palms flat in an obvious sign of surrender. He points to his gag, then to David. This time Davey doesn't draw back when the boy reaches toward the back of the star's head and David can feel him fumbling at the knot in the gag. It takes a minute before the cloth finally goes slack and Davey licks his lips when the boy pulls it free.

"Thanks," David says gratefully. "I can-" He gestures, and the boy immediately turns his head the other direction so Davey can reach the knot on the gag. It's tight, the frayed edges of the fabric clinging to each other and difficult to grasp with his hands linked together, but he manages to tug the knot open. When the star drags the cloth away, the boy coughs.

"I hate that taste," the boy mutters hoarsely, dropping his head back onto the floor of the cart again. He tilts his head sideways so he can see Davey. "Just so's ya know, that's not how that rescue was s'posed ta' go."

David can't stop a surprised laugh at the comment. "Well, I mean, I appreciate the gesture," he replies. "I don't know how you even knew to try, or - wait, you knew my name. Have we met?"

"Sorta," the boy says, scrunching his nose again. "Well, not really, I guess. I was kinda a dog at the time."

"You - _you're_ the dog," Davey gasps, startled. "The one from the wagon that helped me rescue Jack?"

The boy grins. "Yeah, that rescue went a lot betta than this one," he admits. "But when they told me you was goin' afta Jack, I knew I couldn't let ya cross the Wall, bein' a star an' all."

"Wait, _who_ told you?" asks David, confused. "And how'd you know I'm a star?"

"Smalls," the boy says, which makes David's eyes widen again. "And I heard you say youse a star back in Snyder's wagon. Which, dunno if Jack told ya, but ya can still unda'stand folks when youse an animal. So all what ya said-"

The star flushes and covers his face in his hands. "Yeah, he told me," he says. "Although it hadn't occurred to me until just now that _all_ of you in the wagon heard it."

The boy laughs, the sound soft and warm in the confined space. "If it makes ya feel betta, it was real sweet," he adds. Davey groans again. "I gotta ask," the boy continues and his voice is less certain now, a hesitancy to his words that prompts David to lower his hands, "just ta' know, the Jack youse with - Jack Kelly, right?"

"Yeah, he's the one leading the Fey revolution," the star says, nodding.

"Oh, yeah, but that ain't why I's askin'," the boy says, clearing his throat. "When you was in the wagon, ya said somethin' 'bout lookin' for his brother..."

Davey feels his breath catch in his throat as all of the pieces suddenly align: the dog's sudden eagerness to help them escape in the wagon; the way the boy's one leg is tangled awkwardly over the other, not moving when the rest of him does; the long, narrow weapon the boy'd wielded against Wiesel, not a staff but a _crutch_. As he looks closer, squinting at the boy's features in the darkness, he can make out a certain familiarity in the shape of cheekbones, the slant of his smile.

"You're Jack's brother."

The boy chuckles weakly. "Name's Crutchie. Nice ta' 'fficially meet ya."

"Skies, we were looking for you and you were _right there_ ," David gasps in awe. "And Spot, he's been trying to find you for years."

"Spot?" Crutchie's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "He - _really_? You know Spot? So, he got away safe, right? Him and Finch and the fellas?"

"Yeah, they're all in Wall right now," Davey says. "The whole crew. They've been helping us with the revolution."

"The pirates," Crutchie concludes with a breathless huff. "O'course, I shoulda guessed. He always talked 'bout flyin', said it was as free as ya can get."

David licks his lips again. "He said they only made it out safe because of you, and when they got back to the Refuge, you were gone. They've been looking for you, but they could never find where you'd gone."

Crutchie's laugh is a little watery and he rubs his eyes with shaking fingers. "Snyder picked me up just a coupla days afta they left. Figure they wanted ta' put me in my place afta all the trouble I caused," he admits. "And he liked havin' a Fey can't run away. Ain't surprised no one knew where ta' find me, Snyder kept me on a pretty short leash. And wasn't human, lots'a times, if we was 'round otha Fey." He coughs again and shakes his head. "I just - I'm glad they's okay."

"For now, anyway," the star says, feeling the fear well up inside him again now that the shock and excitement of discovery are wearing off. He wants to curl his arms around himself but he can't with his wrists bound, and he feels moisture starting to burn at the corners of his eyes. "Skies, it's not fair. We got _so close_! I really thought we could do it. We were gonna win this thing, and find you, and the three of us would go - I don't know, _somewhere_. We were gonna be happy."

"Hey, hey." Crutchie curls his fingers around Davey's, and the contact is oddly comforting despite the awkward angle. "Don't give up yet. It ain't ova." David laughs, half-hysterical, as he shoots the boy a skeptical look. "Nah, you'll see. We ain't done yet, there's still hope."

"I'm having a hard time feeling hopeful when I'm literally being carted to my execution right now," David counters and his voice cracks thickly. "How can you still have hope at a time like this?"

Crutchie shrugs and smiles. "For ten years people been tellin' me to give up, that my brotha wasn't never gonna come back fa' me. But I kept believin', and he _did_. Just like I kept hopin' my friends made it outta the Refuge okay, and that I'd get 'way from Snyder alive. Sometimes, hope's all ya got. That don't mean ya give up. That just means ya start hopin' harder."

A tremulous smile crosses the star's face and he squeezes the fingers wrapped through his gratefully. "Thanks, Crutchie. I'm glad I got to meet you, even if it's like this."

"Me too," Crutchie says. "And I'm glad my brother found ya. It's good he got someone loves him like ya do." He clears his throat again. "Things, uh, they worked 'tween you two, right? Afta the speech an' all?"

David thinks of that night by the pond; the burning heat of Jack's skin against his, the heady rush of Jack's kiss, the blissful comfort of falling asleep in Jack's arms. Despite his fear, the thought manages to bring out the faintest of shine, a pale silver flicker that pushes back the shadows in the compartment for a second. "Yeah, they did."

Crutchie grips his hand tighter. "Good. We'll getcha back ta' him, you'll see. I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to ya." And even though Davey can feel the other boy's hands shaking, a clear sign he's just as scared, the star clings to him and hopes that he's right. 

* * *

The road to the Wall is nothing more than a footpath through the trees, barely wide enough for the carriage to fit through. Spot and Katherine both keep getting flicked by low-hanging branches that they aren't fast enough to deflect or dodge, but neither of them has any inclination to slow the carriage. They've barely spoken on their mad ride from the city, feeling suffocated by the anticipation, the single question hovering unspoken between them: what if they don't get there in time?

A large branch is drooping dangerously low in their path and Spot shoves with his magic, a gust of golden light pushing the branch up as they pass under it. In his peripherals, he sees Katherine give an appreciative nod without taking her attention off the road. The path straightens, and ahead, Spot can see where the trees are dissolving into an open stretch of grass.

"Did you hear that?" Katherine asks, her brow furrowed. Spot tips his head, straining to hear anything over the sound of the horses. Before he can pick out anything, light flashes through the trees, a staggering blue-white that's familiar after so many sparring sessions.

"Jack," Spot says, surprised. Katherine seems to have guessed it too because she ducks her head and urges the horses out of the trees.

In all his travels across Stormhold, the captain's never actually seen the Wall before. It's underwhelming, really, the bland stretch of stone wall in the middle of the empty field. He doesn't really know what he was expecting, he's always known it's just a wall, but he still feels strangely disappointed.

More disappointing than the Wall itself is the fact that the field is empty, no sign of Davey or Crutchie. Nothing at all, except-

"Jack!" Katherine shouts.

The human is kneeling just inside the gap in the Wall, his head bowed. He doesn't look up as the carriage rattles to a stop only feet away, and Spot throws himself down off the bench. "Jack, what's'a'matter?"

Jack is visibly shaking, and when he finally lifts his head, Spot's stomach plummets. He's a mess; beneath an array of fresh cuts and bruises on his face, his tear-streaked skin is flushed, his eyes red and swollen. There's a hollowness in his gaze, the desperation of a man lost at sea with no port in sight. Without a word, Jack holds out a hand that's stained reddish-brown.

One of Spot's bracelets is sitting in his palm.

"Where did-?" Spot asks, but something in him already knows. His gaze slides passed Jack to the gap in the Wall. "Skies, no..."

"I didn't get here in time," Jack says, and his voice is wretched and broken. "I was too late."

"No." Snarling, Spot slams a hand into the Wall, feeling the skin of his knuckles tear against the stones. "No, damn it!"

"Wait, no," Katherine interjects, and she seizes Jack's extended hand. She drags a thumb over his palm, leaving a streak in the red-brown grit on his skin. "No, that's not-" Standing up, she moves to the gap.

"Hells, princess, whatcha-?"

Katherine cuts him off with a sharp hand gesture, her attention focused on the ground at the gap. She kneels and Spot watches her brush her fingers over a scattering of dirt there. "It's not Davey."

"What?" Spot asks, and Jack's eyes snap to her, a fragile hope blooming on his face.

"The person who crossed the Wall, it wasn't Davey," Katherine says emphatically. She holds out a hand, showing that her fingertips are dyed the same color as Jack's. "This isn't stardust. It's _clay_."

"Clay?" Spot echoes, and then it comes to him. "Weasel's boys."

"Weasel?" Jack cuts in, brow furrowed.

The princess brushes off her hands, straightening up. "Wiesel, the warlock from the inn. The goons that follow him around, they're golems," she explains. "Creatures made out of clay and given life, to do the warlock's bidding. It's an old, obscure magic. Wiesel's the only warlock I've ever known who can do it."

Jack's eyes drift from the damp earth to Katherine and then to the bracelet in his hand like he's struggling to put the pieces together. "It wasn't Davey. But if Wiesel's boy had this," he says, twisting the leather in his grip, "then that must mean-"

"Wiesel has Davey," Spot finishes grimly.

"Which means they'll be headed for the castle," Katherine says.

"No, we can't-" Jack's eyes suddenly spark to life again, even as he pales. "Jesus, we can't let Pulitzer-"

The rest of his sentence dissolves into a surprised yelp when Katherine grabs his elbow and hauls him to his feet. "We have to move, now," the princess says decisively. "We can't afford to waste any more time. If we don't stop the king, this will all have been for nothing."

Spot tugs at the handkerchief on his wrist. He promised to find Jack and come back to the rally, to help lead the Fey in their revolution, but he knows Katherine's right. They're going to have to trust the others to lead the rally through the next step. There's no time to go back for the others, no time to plan or coordinate, no time to hesitate. If they don't get to Davey before Pulitzer does, everything - _everyone_ \- will be gone. It doesn't matter the risk, doesn't matter that they have very little chance of coming out the other side, because if they don't try, it's all over. Pulitzer has to be stopped, no matter what.

 _Sorry, Racer._ "C'mon. Let's go get your boy back."

* * *

Jack's heart is pounding so hard it's making him lightheaded, clutching the edge of the carriage bench with white knuckles. He's still holding onto the broken leather bracelet desperately, mind reeling. Davey isn't dead. Or at least, it wasn't Davey to die at the Wall. Fragile as spider silk, the hope is still there.

Katherine is pushing the horses to their limits, her eyes focused on the path ahead with steely determination. There's no sign of another wagon ahead of them, but it's hardly a straight road and there's a scattering of trees impeding the view. Each time they round a bend, Jack feels his stomach sink when the road ahead is empty. How much of a headstart does Wiesel have? Do they even have a hope of catching up before it's too late?

"So Jack," Spot says from Katherine's other side, leaning forward on his elbows to see around her, "the hells happened? Ya really did go back 'cross the Wall?"

There's a note of accusation and hurt in the captain's tone and Jack frowns. "Not by choice."

"They staged it to look like you betrayed us," Katherine explains. "That you sold out the Fey in exchange for safe passage back to your world."

"Christ, no," Jack protests. At the same time, he feels like he should've seen it. Of course Pulitzer wouldn't just give up when Jack turned down his offer.

"We saw ya," Spot counters, brow furrowed. "Warlock had a mirror, showed us you makin' a deal with Pulitzer."

Jack scowls indignantly. "I didn't _take_ the deal," he repeats insistently. "They tried ta' get me to, but I didn't."

"When did ya even talk ta' Pulitzer anyway?" Spot presses. "Why'd ya go to him?"

"I _didn't_ ," Jack says. "Christ, s'not like I went lookin' for him. I got jumped, a'right? There was these Fey kids last night, come askin' me ta' help 'em. Said they got a friend, real little, in town that's scared ta' join us, and wanted me ta' try and talk 'em 'round. It was stupid, but I just - I dunno, I wasn't expectin' it from kids."

"Scabs," Spot concludes, sneering.

"Musta been," Jack agrees, but his stomach twists when he remembers the looks of fearful desperation on those kids' faces. The plaintive apology right before he was knocked unconscious. He has to wonder if those kids were being forced into it somehow. "Anyway, was Wiesel got the jump on me. Woke up in some place, I dunno where, but there's Pulitzer talkin' at me outta some mirror. Tryna convince me ta' give up the rally. Even tried ta' get me ta' _join_ him."

"Because of your Knack?" Katherine asks, shooting him a quick, appraising look. "Can you really do what they said?"

"Course he can't," the captain interjects before Jack can even open his mouth. "Ya think I'd let him keep yammerin' on like that ta' my boys if he was?"

Jack glances across at Spot, hope and relief washing over him. "Really? But I felt-"

Spot interrupts him with a derisive snorts. "Ain't no magic I ever seen can make a fella do somethin' he don't wanna," he says, shrugging. "'Specially not the Knack o' some punk can barely use his magic. Nah, it might nudge 'em a bit, but you ain't changin' no one's minds, fo'sure." It's precisely what Medda told him, and Jack lets out a shaky breath, something inside of him unknotting at this confirmation. "But how you still alive?" the captain continues. "Didn't take Pulitzer for the sort that likes bein' told no."

"He wants to punish me," Jack says, grimacing. "Said he was gonna kill all ya, kill Davey and ev'ryone at the rally, and I was gonna have ta' live with knowin' it was my fault." He squeezes his eyes shut, nauseated by the thought. "He said the rally was gonna get attacked. That all his warlocks was gonna attack ya soon's the sun come up."

"They ain't done nothin' yet," says Spot. "On'y thing they's done is tryna get us to quit by sayin' you bailed. Les said somethin' 'bout an ambush, but they ain't acted on it by the time we left a'least." Jack hisses out a relieved noise, dropping his forehead into one palm. "Cowboy, whatcha do to ya wrists?"

Jack lifts his head to look at the faintly red welts that still ring his wrists. "Them cuffs ain't s'bad as ya said," he jokes with a wry smile, but his false bravado sounds flat even to his own ears. Katherine flashes him a concerned look while the captain curses under his breath, even though his eyes say he'd guessed as much already. "Upside, now we know how ta' get 'em off without usin' magic. Just gotta cross the Wall, they fall right off."

"'Cause there ain't no magic," Spot finishes with a dry laugh. "O'course. Skies and stars, that's so easy. Shoulda thought of that. That's gonna help a lotta kids."

"Least so long as we get to Davey 'fore Pulitzer does," Jack says, the keen anticipation closing around his chest like a fist again.

"We will," Katherine says determinedly. She flicks the reins, urging the already sprinting horses to go faster. "We have to." 

* * *

"Crutchie?"

It's the first time Davey's spoken in a while, breaking the oppressive silence in their cramped compartment. For the first little bit, he'd been talking almost nonstop, telling Crutchie stories about Jack and the Brooklyn crew in an obvious attempt to distract himself. Then, at some point, he trailed off and nothing Crutchie did could prompt him to keep going. 

Now, the star's voice is shaking and Crutchie glances sideways at him. "I need you to do something for me," Davey says tremulously.

"Course," Crutchie agrees, squeezing the star's cold hand in his. "Whatcha need?"

Davey tilts his head to meet Crutchie's gaze as best he can in the dim lighting, his face set resolutely. "I need you to kill me."

Crutchie recoils in shock. "Gods, Davey, what-?"

"I can't let Pulitzer get his hands on my heart," the star cuts across him emphatically. "If he gets that power, he's going to kill all of the Fey. You and Jack and Spot and Les and _everyone_. I can't bear - I _won't_ let that happen. The only way to stop that now is to make sure my heart is destroyed before Pulitzer can get it."

"I can't," Crutchie protests, horrified. "No, we'll figure somethin' else. There's gotta be anotha way."

"There's no other way," David says firmly. "We're running out of time. I can't be the reason all of these kids die. Please."

As much as the idea makes him sick to his stomach, Crutchie can see the logic behind his argument. They can stop this whole thing before it happens, derail the king's horrid plans with one terrible, deplorable sacrifice. It seems selfish, in that vein, to risk the lives of every single Fey in Stormhold to save one person. Especially when that one person is willing to fall on that sword for them all.

If Crutchie were in Davey's place, he'd say the same thing.

"I can't," Crutchie repeats tremulously, but his hesitancy is clear.

"You have to," Davey says. "Please, I need your help. We - we have to find something." Davey shifts, craning his head to try and look around their compartment desperately. "There's gotta be _something_. Anything we can use."

The wagon jolts and their heads smack together painfully. Even as they both murmur apologies, Crutchie tenses. The sound of the wheels has changed, no longer clattering over dirt but rolling on cobbled stones. He swallows hard, knowing what that means. "Davey, we's gonna figure this out," Crutchie says, folding the star's hand between his own again. "We will. I ain't gonna letcha die."

Davey makes a soft noise, something halfway between a laugh and a sob, and pulls his hands free from Crutchie's. He reaches down, awkwardly twisting to remove something from his pocket, and he drops it into Crutchie's pocket. The weight of it sits, solid and heavy against his hip. "Take this," the star says insistently. "I dunno what it is, exactly, but I know it's powerful. Maybe it can help you."

Before Crutchie can ask or respond, the cart jutters to a stop and his heart leaps into his throat. No, not yet. They need more time. "Please, Davey, don't do nothin' crazy," Crutchie begs when he sees the wild light in the star's eyes. "Just - we'll figure it. It ain't ova."

The compartment door opens, pouring bright sunlight in on them. Crutchie's eyes slam shut against the light, hissing, and he feels Davey turn to tuck his head against his shoulder. "Rise and shine, boys," Wiesel taunts. A hand closes around the chains on Crutchie's wrist and hauls, dragging him up and out of the cart. Without time to get his leg beneath him, Crutchie's body falls heavily to the cobblestones and he cries out when his crippled leg bends awkwardly under him.

"Crutchie!"

Crutchie's eyes have finally adjusted to the light, and he blinks up at Wiesel's goon when the boy tugs him by the wrists again. He at least manages to get his good leg under him this time but he's forced to pitch his weight against the Delancey - Crutchie never could tell them apart, so he's not sure which one this is - the goon's grip on his chained wrists the only thing keeping him upright.

Wiesel pulls Davey out of the cart with as little consideration, the star falling to his knees before he can find his footing and stand. Despite the panic in Davey's eyes, his gaze pours over Crutchie in concern. "You okay?"

"Not for long," Wiesel cuts in with a vicious smirk. "But don't you worry 'bout him, it's your life ya should be worried 'bout. His majesty's been dyin' to meetcha."

Davey's jaw sets as he glares at Wiesel, and the fear in his gaze turns to fierce indignation. "You will get what's coming to you," he snarls darkly. "One day, you will."

Wiesel scoffs. "Ain't that a lovely thought."

The star's eyes turn to Crutchie, and the quiet resignation in them makes his stomach plummet. "When you see Jack," he says and there's only the faintest crack in his voice, "tell him I love him, and I'm sorry?" Before any of them can react, Davey launches into motion. He drives his bound hands straight into Wiesel's stomach, making him double over, and then his hands close around the sword hilt at the warlock's waist. Jerking it free, he turns the blade around in his hands, stretches his arms out to line the tip with his chest and-

Crutchie screams as the hex marks in his leg burn white-hot, reacting to the sudden flare of magic from Wiesel. He crumples against the Delancey, who lets him fall to the ground without blinking. Looking up through squinted eyes, Crutchie can see Davey's body frozen in a perfect tableau, the sword tip poised only a breath away from his ribs. The star's muscles shake as he fights against the magic holding him in place, eyes wide with desperation.

"Not so fast, pretty boy," Wiesel sneers, the emerald gleam of his magic curling around his fingers as he straightens back up. His teeth are bared when he steps into Davey's space. "You know, you have been nothing but a pain in my side from the moment you landed on this world. I was going to hand you over to Pulitzer and turn my attention to that little guttersnipe," the warlock nods toward Crutchie on the ground, another spark of magic in his palms prompting a strangled shout, "but I think I'm going to enjoy this. I'll deal with the brat later. First, I'm going to watch the king carve the beating heart from your chest, and I'm going to laugh."

Wiesel grabs the sword hilt and yanks it from Davey's hands. The movement seems to break whatever spell was holding the star, who staggers backward in horror, chest heaving. Surprisingly, the first words out of Davey's mouth are, "Don't hurt him." Wiesel quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. The warlock summons more fire into his palms and Crutchie's vision goes white at the edges when it feels like his leg is being simultaneously crushed and twisted.

"Stop!" Davey shrieks, voice cracking. "Skies, stop, _please_!" Wiesel doesn't completely dismiss the fire, but it shrinks down to low embers. Crutchie can still feel it, tiny sparks of lightning that ricochet inside his muscles, but he can at least get his breath. "Please, he's just a kid," Davey continues in a broken voice. "Do what you want to me, but leave him out of it."

Wiesel laughs, his lips contorting into a cruel smirk. "Just a kid?" he echoes disbelievingly. "Do you know what that _kid_ has cost me?"

"I'll come willingly," Davey interjects, setting his jaw and ignoring Crutchie's hoarse protest. "Do what you want with me, I won't fight, so long as you let him go. Please, he's just an injured kid, he can't be a threat to you. Just let him go."

"Oh, I don't think so," Wiesel counters. "No, he's going to pay for what he's done. You know how hard it is makin' one of these boys?" The warlock gestures at the Delancey, who is standing dispassionately over Crutchie's huddled body. "'Cause it ain't easy. Took me years to get it right, and more to get 'em trained up good how I wanted. And that little piece of Fey trash went and shoved him 'cross the Wall.

"So you know what I'm gonna do to him? See, it's gonna take a lotta magic to build me a new boy. So I'm gonna suck every _speck_ of magic out of that cripple's body, as slowly and painfully as I can, 'til he ain't nothin' more than an empty shell." Davey's already pale skin has gone bone white, and Crutchie knows he can't look any better. The implications are terrifying; he's had magic siphoned before - of course he has, it's the main reason warlocks keep Fey around - but the process is torturous in even the short bursts Snyder used. What Wiesel is suggesting, a long, continuous siphon until Crutchie's tenuous grasp on his magic, that central part of him, is broken...

"You monster!" Davey abruptly shouts, launching himself at Wiesel, but he barely makes it a step before Wiesel's magic freezes him again. The warlock intentionally uses more than necessary, until Crutchie's world is reduced to white pinpricks and his ears ring with the combination of his screams and Davey's. Just as it reaches the highest pitch, when Crutchie can feel the darkness of unconsciousness eating at his edges, the pain flees to leave him panting and twitching on the stones.

"Take that to the cells," Wiesel says to the Delancey, nodding toward Crutchie's spasming body. "I'll deal with it later. First, I've gotta take care of this one."

* * *

The daunting silhouette of Stormhold Keep appears as they round another bend in the road, a towering mass of hard lines and blank stones. Jack expected something different from Pulitzer, something gaudy and ostentatious like the castles from the fairy tale stories he heard as a kid, but this is a fortress. This is the home of a man expecting battle and prepared to hold his own. The only adornment visible from outside are the pennants, bright yellow with a green and blue orb in the center.

"They're here," Katherine says without slowing. Jack's gaze flicks down to the open courtyard in front of the castle doors. It's an expansive stretch of cobblestone, the only buildings a large stable and two watchtowers standing sentry at either end. A line of Bulls are at attention in front of the doors. In the middle of the courtyard, a large cart is parked haphazardly. "They can't have been here long," Katherine adds and hope tints her words, "or someone would've come to tend to the horses."

The implication is obvious and Jack's heart leaps; they might not be too late.

"How's we s'pose ta' get in?" Spot asks, hand on his sword hilt. "I ain't one ta' shy from a fight, but we's a bit outnumbered there."

"We're not going in the front door," Katherine counters. She tugs the reins, steering the horses off the main road and giving the courtyard a wide berth. The ride becomes even bumpier, the three of them bouncing into each other as the carriage flies across the rolling grass around the side of the fortress. After they've gone about half the length of the wall, Katherine finally hauls back on the reins to stop them. "On foot from here," she says, nodding for them to dismount.

Jack hops down, and despite the narrowed eyes, Katherine accepts his hand down. "Where we goin'?" Jack asks.

Katherine grabs the hem of her skirt and tucks it into her belt, pulling the fabric out of the way of her feet. "This way," she says and takes off running. Jack and Spot exchange glances before tearing after her. They sprint through the field to the edge of the castle, where rocky outcroppings surround the base of the towering walls. Katherine scales the jagged rocks like an expert and then runs her hands along the stones with her brow furrowed.

"Whatcha-?" Spot doesn't get any further before Katherine makes a triumphant noise and shoves against the wall. With a dull scraping sound, a narrow section of stone slides inward to reveal a low-ceilinged corridor.

"I grew up here, remember?" Katherine says, smirking at their surprised expressions. "I know all the secret passages in and out of this place. Come on."

* * *

"It's time, Racetrack."

Gritting his teeth, Race rolls his cigar between his fingers. He doesn't respond to the nobleman's comment, taking a long drag and letting the smoke fill his lungs. Spot's not here to nag him about smoking - which is, of course, the problem that's driven him to smoke in the first place. Race exhales through his nose, the smoke burning his nostrils.

"He's right, Racer." It's Specs this time, the dirty traitor. Of course, he's right. Race knows they're right. That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it. "Cap'n said one hour, we move."

"I know," Race snaps, flexing his free hand. There's an ugly, stinging black mark that runs the length of his forearm, a lucky hit from one of the warlocks. Race was one of only four casualties on the Fey's side. All things considered, taking down all the waiting warlocks went easy. The scattered groups were never bigger than five people, overconfident in their advantage, and none of them expected an attack. The thought of the piles of tied-up, unconscious warlocks all over the city brings a smile to Race's lips.

Race crouches to stub out his cigar on the stones, then tucks the remaining half of it into his pocket (it's the last one he's got on him, so it's gotta last 'til they get back to the ship). Feelings aside - and he's gonna punch Spot right 'cross his smug jaw the next time he sees him for making him _worry_ like a cissy- orders are orders. "A'right, let's get this show on the road," he says, exchanging nods with the rest of their little group. Then, when none of them move to step up, Race sighs and cards a hand through his curls. Guess that's up to him too.

Climbing onto a stack of barrels, Race sticks two fingers in his mouth and makes that high-pitched whistle that always pisses Spot off. "Fey o' Stormhold!" A wave of cheers echo back at him and the sudden attention of so many people is a little daunting. Race honestly can't wait until this is all over and he can get back to his workshop on the Brooklyn, leave all this public speaking to other folks. "We showed Pulitzer we wasn't gonna back down. We showed him that we's gonna stand together. And what'd he do? He _ran away_!"

The Fey whoop, jamming their fists into the air. "That's right!" Race says, smirking. "We told him ta' give us his best shot, and what's he done? _Nothin'_ . We's taken out all'a his warlocks and Bulls, while he hides in his castle. So whaddya say we don't let him keep hidin'?" A tidal wave of roars. "I say we march right up ta' Pulitzer's front door and we _show_ him just who he's messin' with. That we ain't gonna be forgotten or ignored. Whaddya say?"

Race hops down off the barrels as another deafening shout echoes around the square. "That work?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at the others.

"I think it got your point across," Hearst says with an amused nod. Race snorts. He never would've expected to get along with the son of Lord Hearst, of all people, but the wiry guy has a good sense of humor beneath all the polish and posh. He's not the sorta guy Race would tear up a town with, like Albert and Finch, but not a bad guy. "Shall we?"

Fist in the air, Race grins and starts walking out of the square ahead of the sea of Fey kids. "Ta' the castle!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not apologize for turning Sprace into not-so-secret softies. This story needed one functional relationship. I'll fight you on this. (Not that I think anyone will actually fight me on it.)
> 
> Nearly finished with the last chapter and guys, it's seriously killing me. I didn't expect it to be this difficult to end this, although I think I over-complicated it myself by including so many damn characters in the climax. (sorrynotsorry) I know this story has been going on forever but I'm not ready to let go!


	10. Once and for All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has only been mildly edited at this point. I worked a 15-hour shift yesterday (which is also when I finished writing this) and so my brain is a bit fuzzy today. I will come back through and edit it a little better when I'm less sleep-deprived, but I was just too excited to get this out for you guys.

The holding cell where Crutchie's been tossed is cramped and cold. He sits with his back against the wooden door, listening for any noise from the other side of the barred window. It's silent, no sounds of even a guard outside the cell. Of course, they wouldn't bother. He's still Bound and chained, and without his crutch, it's not like he's going to make it far even if he could get the door open. All he can do is sit and wait, helpless, until Wiesel comes back to tear him apart.

A shudder rolls through him, and Crutchie squeezes his eyes shut. It's not a future to look forward to, that's for sure. Siphoning is agony on its own, but it always ignites the hex marks on his leg and the jinx of his cuffs as well, a punishment for his magic even though he's not the one using it. Snyder was always cruel and sadistic, taking a perverse pleasure from leaching his magic out from beneath Crutchie's skin and then using that same magic for his experiments, but the fire in Wiesel's eyes promises nothing less. It's almost a relief to know that death is waiting on the other side of Wiesel's siphoning.

Crutchie chokes on a watery sigh, shaking his head. No, he _can't_ give up yet. He won't just sit by and wait for the other side to win; wait for Pulitzer to murder Davey the star and Wiesel to torture him and all of the warlocks in Stormhold to rise up and exterminate every Fey in the kingdom. His own words to Davey from earlier come back to him.

There's a very good chance he's already too late, but that doesn't mean it's time to stop hoping yet.

First step is to get out of this cell. Craning his head, Crutchie looks up at the door against his back. It's simple and flat, dark wood with a small square window cut into it, laid with iron bars. There's no handle on this side, no sign of the lock that he knows is there. However, he knows that the bolt isn't magic since the Delancey was able to engage it, which means that this is the sort of standard cells used by the soldiers to hold criminals. Which means that the only thing keeping the door shut is a regular bolt.

Crutchie sucks in a deep breath, steadying himself. Once again, his saving grace is going to be the fact that everyone underestimates him. Just like Snyder, Wiesel saw a crippled Bound Fey and assumed he was defenseless. None of them realize that Crutchie has been practicing for years, brushing against his magic in small doses until he built up something of a tolerance to the shock of the cuffs. It's not much, but it is usually enough to help him manage small tricks or spells - like magicking a piece of twine into a flower - without the pain stopping him. It's also the same practice that let him unleash his magic at a rabbit cage, melting the lock before the cuffs could cut the tether. In comparison, reaching out to nudge at a locking mechanism should be simple.

Reaching up, Crutchie presses his hands to the wood as well as he can with them still chained. He closes his eyes and nudges at that spark inside, ignoring the ripple it sends down his spine. It's hard to do without being able to actually see it, but he pushes with his magic, seeking out the dense metal of the sliding bolt. By the time he finds it, the itch in his wrists is physically hot, stinging the already raw skin there.

Crutchie grits his teeth, takes a long, deep breath through his nose, and _shoves_.

His vision goes white for a second, and the spasm that shoots through his crippled leg is hard enough to knock him off balance, but then suddenly, miraculously, the door swings open. Crutchie braces his hands on the floor, grinning as he catches his breath. Looking up, he can see the half of the bolt still sitting in the latch, the metal warped along the edge where his magic cut through it.

Alright, step one complete. Step two: find Davey. Frowning, Crutchie rolls to plant his good foot beneath him, grasping the edge of the door for balance until he's upright. He stands for a second, glancing from his bound hands to his crippled leg hanging uselessly. Change of plans. Step two is finding a new crutch.

Looking up and down the corridor, Crutchie can see a row of identical doors along the wall on either side. There's nothing nearby, but down at the end of the hall, he can see that it opens up into a larger room. He eyes the long expanse of empty hall between here and there and bites his lip. This is _not_ going to be fun.

Crutchie scrabbles for a handhold in the stretch of stone wall between doors, trying to brace himself before he hops forward on his good leg. The movement hurts, his muscles still so sore from the day of standing in Snyder's wagon followed by the very uncomfortable cart ride, and his bad leg sparks where his toes drag against the floor. Still, he manages to stay upright, and he'll consider that a victory.

One more hop brings him close enough to clutch the barred window of a door for balance, and then a door handle on the next. He makes it two hops through the stone gap between doors before his leg gives out and he falls, taking the brunt of the impact on his forearms. It's a minute before he can get his breath again and he gracelessly climbs to a standing position. No time for this; gotta keep moving.

It's a long, tedious process, a loop of tentative handholds and shuffling hops, but Crutchie finally manages to reach the room at the end of the hall. Breathing hard, he looks around the space appraisingly. It seems to be the guards' post, a resting place for the Bulls on duty at the cells. There's a small fireplace with a spit, a pair of cramped, threadbare cots, and a rickety table and chairs.

Crutchie's gaze skims across the fire spit - too heavy - and the wooden chairs - too short - before they finally settle on the cots. They're made of crossed wooden legs and heavy linen, but running up the sides of the fabric are a pair of narrow support poles. Not ideal, but... Crutchie moves over to the nearest cot, dragging himself forward on his elbows when he falls again. He tips the bed over and runs his fingers over the framework. Easy enough to remove - since they're designed to be taken apart and carried - all he has to do is remove the bedding from the legs, and the pole slides free.

Feeling triumphant, Crutchie plants the end of the pole in a crack in the stone floor, and he's able to use the leverage to get upright again. The pole is slightly too tall for him, forcing him to clutch awkwardly at the thin wood at shoulder level, but he's able to take several stumbling steps forward, and he grins in satisfaction.

Step two complete. Now he's back on track. Step three: find Davey.

Crutchie's never been in this part of the fortress, although he knows the general location from being dragged down by the Delancey. He's assuming Pulitzer's ego and flair for the dramatic means when he does kill Davey, it'll be in one of the grand halls, one of those enormous central rooms where he usually holds his council meetings or other affairs. Orienting himself in the right direction, Crutchie starts moving.

Three corridors on, he comes to an intersection. Before he can pick one, he hears a commotion from down the hall to his right, the distant sounds of fighting and shouts echoing up off the stone. Crutchie immediately chooses the path to the other side. He's not exactly in any condition to be fighting, and without his magic, he definitely doesn't stand a chance against more than one person at best. Not to mention, getting tangled up in a fight will only slow him down from finding Davey. Ignoring his curiosity - because really, who is fighting? There shouldn't be anyone but the king's men in the castle to begin with - he pushes forward.

The corridor turns and suddenly slopes up into a set of narrow stairs, at the same time that Crutchie hears something that makes his heart clench - footsteps coming from behind, fast and pounding. Someone's chasing him? Skies, did Delancey find out he's escaped from the cell? Crutchie looks up at the stairs and weighs his chances; fight or flight? No way he's getting up those before the other person catches up.

Backtracking a few steps, Crutchie drops and presses himself against the wall, gripping his makeshift crutch like a weapon. His every muscle is tense as he braces himself against the stones and listens for the person coming down the hall. Crutchie is not going down without a fight.

Besides, he's already taken out one Delancey today. It'd be kinda satisfying to finish the pair.

* * *

Katherine leads them through a tunnel that seems to wind and meander into the castle, and after the first real curve, they lose the light as well. Spot wastes no time summoning a flicker of light into his palm, casting a shifting golden glow over the walls. It's a good thing, too, because not five feet further, the floor dips into a sharp decline that they half-slide down. At the bottom, the corridor ends abruptly in another blank wall of stone.

Katherine presses her ear to the wall for a second, holding her breath, before she nods and shoves at the stones. Just like the other end, it slides open easily enough. They step out into a tiny square closet of some sort, barely big enough for the three of them, with a simple wooden door on the opposite wall. Jack watches, bemused, as the princess shuts the tunnel and listens for anyone outside the door again.

"You wasn't kiddin' when you said youse done this a lot," he remarks in amusement when she opens the door to let them out into a large hallway.

"This one's the simplest one for getting in," Katherine responds. "A little harder to get out of, with the incline, but it's doable. There's another passage in the servants' quarters off the kitchens that would've been more helpful, because it's closer to the center, but it's practically impossible to open from the outside, and I didn't want to waste time fighting with it."

Katherine and Spot both draw their swords as the three of them start down the corridor, following her lead, and the lack of a weapon of his own leaves Jack feeling strangely vulnerable. "What's a princess gotta sneak out for anyway?" Spot asks curiously.

"After my mother died, the king started keeping me on a short leash," Katherine admits with a rueful smile. "As a child, it was mostly just for fun. Little adventures, the chance to get outside without being shadowed by guards at all times. Then, after I chose to part ways with the king, he had me - well, arrested might be too strong a term, but I was detained. My knowledge of those passages was the only reason I was able to escape." Jack remembers Wiesel talking about bringing her in for a bounty, and wonders just how far the king was willing to go to get his daughter back under his thumb.

The corridors are cold and featureless as they walk in a close cluster. Inside of the fortress is just as hollow and imposing as the outside, the arrangement of the few decorative tapestries and statues too perfectly placed to be natural. There are endless doors and branching hallways, but everything has a vacant air. For all of the people that must live here, it feels less like a home and more like a tomb.

Jack shivers, the strange buzz in the walls itching against his skin. "Feels wrong, don't it?" Spot says, glancing knowingly at him from the corner of his eyes. "The magic."

"S'that what it is?" Jack asks, surprised. He can tell now, a little, feeling something distantly similar to the warm hum of his own magic, but it chafes him in a way no others' magic has ever done. Even Wiesel's angry fire being forced under his skin, burning him from the inside out, didn't feel this - _wrong_. Like a familiar song played in a different key. "Wait, the king's _Fey_?"

"His magic comes from the Gem," Katherine interjects, shaking her head. "It is a gift of the throne, to possess a power strong enough to rule the kingdom."

"Oh, that's rich," Jack says sarcastically. "Magic's fine when it comes from a rock, but not for the folks born with it." Spot gives him an eloquent look, lips twisted into a wry smirk.

"His power will be weakening," Katherine says, glancing over her shoulder at them, "but he is still far more powerful than any warlock. Be careful, and don't underestimate him."

The words have no sooner left her mouth than there's a clamor from the hall they are passing and all three of them freeze. A patrol of Bulls are only meters away, and they all draw their swords as soon as they spot their group. "It's Lady Katherine!" one of the guards says. "Seize them!"

"Jack, run!" Katherine says, raising her sword. Jack turns and looks at her in surprise. "Spot and I will handle this, but someone's got to stop the king."

"Princess is right," Spot says. He jerks his gold-tinted hand, and one guard's feet fly out from beneath him, two other guards tripping over him with mingled shouts. "Go. We'll catch up when we's done."

Jack's own flare of magic drops a guard, the man's sword clattering out of his hand when he hits the floor, and Jack glances between his friends. The last thing he wants to do is leave them behind, outnumbered three to one, but he knows they're right. Nothing else matters but stopping the king. "Be careful," he says, and then turns and runs down the corridor.

The shouts and clash of swords follow him as Jack races as hard as he can, praying he's headed the right way. Katherine's been leading them fairly steadily in this general direction since they entered the fortress, so he hopes sticking to this path will keep him on track. There's only room left in his head for one thought that pushes him on, faster than he's ever run before; he has to save Davey.

Jack skids around a corner and something strikes him in the stomach, hard enough that he doubles over, crashing to his knees. A second swing cracks across his back, throwing him forward, and Jack's head smacks hard into the stone floor. His vision is spinning as his attacker shoves him over onto his back, and they kneel on his chest, pressing something metal against his throat.

"Who're you?"

Perhaps it shouldn't surprise Jack at this point that the voice is so young, but it still catches him off guard to hear the boy's hoarse voice from above him. Jack squints, head still swimming, and feels his breath leave him all over again. His blurry vision merges with years of watercolor dreams; light brown hair, hazel eyes, features pinked by the sun, and an aura of warmth and familiarity. As everything abruptly clicks into place, with an electric hum not unlike his magic, it drags out a word buried somewhere in the deepest recesses of his memories.

"Charlie?"

The boy crouched on his chest recoils, and it removes the pressure on Jack's throat. As he glances down at the hands braced on his chest, Jack sees the weapon he was using to pin him is actually the short length of chain between his cuffed hands. Bright hazel eyes comb almost hungrily over Jack's face, and the boy's next breath shakes. "S'been so long since someone called me that," he whispers, a faintly bemused smile crossing his lips. "I a'most forgot." One hand drifts toward Jack's face, and then he hesitates, biting his lip. "Jacky?"

It hits Jack like a physical blow, the impact of that single word. If there was any doubt before, it's gone now. He's all grown-up, only the faintest traces of baby fat still clinging to the apples of his cheeks, bruises and scars decorating his skin, and time and trials have carved lines into his features, but there's no question that this is the face that haunts his dreams. His little brother. " _Charlie_."

With a smile like a sun coming up, the younger boy practically collapses onto Jack's chest. Jack can feel him shaking as his fingers twist up in the fabric of Jack's shirt, and Jack immediately wraps his arms around the boy's back, clutching him as tight as he can. The position is uncomfortable, the sharp jab of a knee in his stomach and the metal edge of cuffs digging into Jack's ribs, but he just squeezes tighter.

"Ya found me," Charlie mutters thickly, his forehead pressed into the side of Jack's neck. "I knew ya'd do it. Ya found me."

A distraction arrives that moment as Spot and Katherine barrel around the corner. The princess is cradling her ribs and Spot's arm is bleeding, but Katherine raises her sword at seeing the boy who looks like he's pinning Jack.

"Wait!"

It's not just Jack that says it but Spot too, the captain's hand jumping out to close around her wrist. Katherine frowns, glancing between them questioningly, but Jack's eyes have already gone back to the younger boy huddled on his chest. He can feel the awe shaking in his chest as he says, "He's my brotha."

"Your what?" Katherine responds. "I thought-"

Charlie sits up, not bothering to wipe his wet cheeks as he grasps Jack's shoulder firmly. "We ain't got time," he says frantically. "Pulitzer's got Davey, ya gotta go, _now_." He seems to realize that he's still sitting on Jack's stomach at that point because he hastily slides off to the floor, his legs a tangled knot beside him. Jack has barely sat up when Charlie pushes at his shoulder insistently. "Go!"

"I ain't just leavin' you," Jack argues, even though a voice in the back of his head is telling him he needs to do just that. Pulitzer has Davey, is going to kill him if they don't get there in time, but his muscles don't want to cooperate because this is his little brother sitting in front of him. The little brother he didn't even know he had a month ago, that he thought was dead for most of that time, that he was starting to think he might never see again. "I just found ya."

Charlie's smile cracks, sad, but he shoves again. "I got a bum leg, I ain't fast enough," he says, tugging at the knee of his breeches to reveal a spiderweb of violet-black veins that seem to glimmer tauntingly beneath his skin. The sight resonates with Jack's memories of a net of magic that trapped a desperate, pale face to the ground, and his stomach turns over. "But I'll be right behind ya. It ain't gonna matter if you don't get to Davey first though. Go, Jacky."

"He's right," Katherine says tightly. She's lowered her sword, and she gives Jack a sympathetic look when he glances up at her. "We can't waste time, we need to stop the king."

"Go, Cowboy," Spot adds firmly. There's a fierce spark in his eyes, but he's not looking at Jack as he talks, his gaze fixed solely on Charlie. "I'll keep an eye on the kid."

Which is the moment that Charlie finally breaks his staring contest with Jack, glancing up to take notice of the other two for the first time. His gaze glides across Katherine, vaguely surprised and bewildered, before it lands on the pirate captain. "Spot?" Charlie asks tremulously, and a bright smile crosses his face.

"Hey, Crutchie," Spot responds, and his expression softens in a way Jack has so rarely seen, usually only around Les or - when he thinks no one's watching - Race. It's then that Jack remembers that they know each other; that they grew up together, more like brothers than Jack will ever experience, and that Spot has spent years chasing him down. Then the captain sets his jaw and looks at Jack again. "Go. I got him."

Jack swallows hard, but the fiery intensity in Spot's eyes eases his anxiety. There's no one in all of Stormhold that he can guarantee will protect Charlie as well. Nodding, Jack reaches forward and grips Charlie's shoulders firmly. "I'mma come back for ya," he vows fiercely. "Promise. I'mma come right back this time."

"I know," Charlie says, squeezing his wrist. "Now _go_!"

With one last desperate look, Jack shoves himself to his feet. He doesn't let himself hesitate or glance back as he follows Katherine up the staircase and deeper into the fortress. 

* * *

Before Jack and Katherine have even reached the top of the stairs, Spot is on his knees and running his gaze over the rumpled boy in front of him. He's a little worse for the wear, bruises and cuts peppering all of his visible skin, tears still streaked down his cheeks, but he's _alive_. Crutchie smiles, and in the next breath, Spot is dragging the kid against his chest.

"Skies and stars, kid, I been lookin' for you everywhere," the captain says and refuses to acknowledge the catch in his voice. Hands still bound together, Crutchie's fingers twist in the front of Spot's shirt, arms trapped between them. The gash on Spot's bicep is stinging from flexing his arm this way, but the captain can't bring himself to care. Years of searching and praying, and he finally found him. "Told ya we was comin' back for ya, what happened ta' waitin'?"

Crutchie gives a watery chuckle. "Ya always said I was no good at listenin'," he reminds him wryly. "Lucky me, Snyder was lookin' for a new Fey."

The revelation sends a jolt of horror through Spot, and he pulls back to frown at Crutchie. "The Spider?" Hells, of all the terrible warlocks in the kingdom for the kid to wind up with, it had to be the Fey-catcher. That explains, at least, why Spot hasn't been able to find him. "Damn, you don't do nothin' by halves, huh?"

Crutchie snorts, drying his cheeks against his shoulders. "Youse one to talk," he counters. "All ya talkin' 'bout leavin' Stormhold, and instead ya stick 'round, become a pirate, and launch a rebellion."

"The rebellion's all Jack," Spot admits, shrugging. "The rest - well, s'long story. I'll tell ya later. C'mon, we gotta get movin' 'fore those guards we soaked come 'round. Can't get the cuffs off myself, but I can break that chain if ya can take it."

"Trust me, I's had worse," Crutchie says, and there's something dark beneath his laugh that makes Spot's blood boil. Heavens help Snyder if Spot ever gets his hands on him... Without hesitation, Crutchie braces his teeth against his forearm and then looks at the captain expectantly. Spot forces his discomfort to the back, focusing his attention on the tightly wound chain. He's got to do this fast; he knows any magic used in his presence triggers Crutchie's bad leg.

"Three - two-" Spot summons the magic before reaching one, a sharp, vicious slash of gold that splits several of the links down the middle. Crutchie spasms, eyes slamming shut, and the visible glimpse of black and violet lines on his knee glow maliciously. Letting go of the magic as fast as he can, Spot braces the younger boy by the shoulder. "You good, kid? Youse lookin' rough."

Crutchie exhales heavily, dropping his arms, and Spot can see the half-moon of red marks where his teeth dug into his skin. "Cakewalk," Crutchie says, and his smile is almost believable. Spot raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Just been a long day, and Weasel ain't the most friendly chauffeur. But I'm good."

The captain can tell he's lying, but he doesn't push it. Awful as it is, they don't have time for being injured or weak. So Spot helps Crutchie untangle the cracked chains from his wrists so the younger boy can use his hands again. "Okay, good, then we gotta move. That brotha of yours is a damn fool, can't leave him 'lone five minutes without him causin' trouble. Must be a family thing."

A genuine smile blossoms on Crutchie's face at the mention of Jack, and for a minute, he looks like the kid Spot remembers from the beginning; bright-eyed and endlessly optimistic and faithful to a fault. Spot stands and offers his hands down to Crutchie, hauling him upright. Once he's sure Crutchie won't fall, Spot retrieves his sword and glances up at the staircase.

"I ain't even gonna ask if youse up fa' that, 'cause I know you'll lie," the captain says, sheathing his sword to free up his hands. Without giving the kid a chance to argue, Spot tugs Crutchie's wrists over his shoulders, hooks his arm beneath the kid's knees, and lifts.

Crutchie yelps and wraps his arms around Spot's neck. "Skies, Spotty, I ain't a li'l kid," he protests even as the captain starts up the stairs.

"And ya don't weigh nothin' more than ya did back then," Spot says with a huff. "I been haulin' lightnin' canisters weigh ten times whatcha do." The kid really is too light, and Spot is barely even starting to breathe hard by the time he's jogged to the top of the stairs. The captain lets Crutchie slide down off his back once they're in the corridor, slipping around to the kid's side and keeping an arm around his waist. "See, just like ol' times," Spot says, smirking.

"'Cept I'm taller 'an you now," Crutchie points out with a teasing grin as he slings his arm around Spot's shoulders for balance. Narrowing his eyes, Spot jabs the kid in the ribs. "Ow! Hey, ain't my fault youse short."

They can't move very fast, Crutchie limping along awkwardly as he uses Spot for a crutch. Despite his assurances that he's okay, Crutchie is clearly flagging; his fingers dig into Spot's shoulder for balance as his twisted leg drags between them, and he's breathing deliberately through his nose in a pale attempt to mask wincing. The sharp jab of his hipbone against Spot's just makes the captain that much more worried about his health, because skies, how starved is the kid if his bones stick out that much? Except, no, wait, Crutchie's taller, so that's too low to be his hip bone, which means....

"Hells, kid, whatcha got in your pocket?"

"Pocket?" Crutchie echoes in confusion. "Oh, I dunno, ach'lly. Davey slipped it to me, I ain't looked. Sorta forgot." He sways slightly when they stop so he can reach into his pocket. When he lifts the object free, Crutchie's jaw drops.

"Ain't that-?" Spot asks, leaning in for a better look. There in Crutchie's palm is an old, gaudy necklace, a gold chain with a sparkling diamond pendant. Spot might not be in-the-know on the political workings of Stormhold, but even he recognizes the insignia etched into the gemstone's setting.

"The Gem of Stormhold," Crutchie says breathlessly. He meets the captain's gaze, awestruck. "It can't be. But I's seen it 'fore, seen Pulitzer wearin' it. I dunno how but this is it."

"How the hells did Davey get it?" Spot asks with a hysterical chuckle. He can't help but wonder if the star's had it the whole time, if he had the gem before he ever set foot on the Brooklyn. But if he did, why carry it around all this time? Was he hoping to keep the kingdom in political upheaval to help their rebellion? Spot doesn't want to think Davey would pull that kind of underhanded stunt, but he's definitely clever enough for it.

It also gives Spot an idea.

"Crutch, ya realize what this means?" he says breathlessly. Crutchie glances from the necklace to the captain with his brow furrowed. Spot grins. "Hang on tight, kid. We's gonna save the day."

* * *

Davey comes to with his head pounding, a sharp ache resonating from the back of his skull, and it takes him a second to remember Wiesel bashing his head against the stone floor when he got tired of the star's struggling. Right, that explains a lot. Groaning, David blinks away the lingering shadows to get a better look at his surroundings.

The room he's in is enormous, a cavernous chamber hall of some sort. Davey is lying on his back on a raised surface at the front of the hall, which gives him a good view of sweeping buttresses, glittering chandeliers, and towering stained-glass windows. There is no other furniture or adornments in the room, apart from the raised dais the star is on, and David's short, anxious breaths seem to echo in the empty room.

Forcing himself to focus, the star turns his attention to himself. The heavy iron chain from before now spirals up the full length of his arms and across the base of his throat, and the ends of it, after looping tightly around his wrists, seem to be fused with the edges of the cold black marble beneath him. He can feel the weight of chains digging into his ankles as well, pinning his legs in place. When Davey tries to lift his head to look around, the chain presses against his neck and narrows his breathing pointedly. Apparently Wiesel wanted to be sure he couldn't get away with struggling anymore.

Davey drops his head, feeling a hopeless noise lodge in his chest. At least the warlock didn't seem to feel a need to replace the gag, but that's little consolation. Really, it just makes it harder for David to fight back the panicked sobs that are threatening to escape. Two weeks of fighting and running and continually being afraid for his life, and it all comes down to this.

Squeezing his eyes shut, David sends up a silent prayer to his siblings. He doesn't know if they can hear him - he hasn't felt more than the most distant brush of their voices in the fortnight on earth, mostly only whispers in his sleep - but he hopes they can. _I'm sorry that we weren't closer. I'm sorry that I failed. But I'm not sorry for the lessons I've learned since I've been here. If there's anything you can do to protect these kids, please..._

The doors to the chamber open with an appropriately dramatic crash and Davey gets his first sight of King Joseph Pulitzer. He's a tall, slender man, and even in the star's sideways vision, he gives off an aura of regal authority. There are glimmers of pale green light fading from his hands as he marches purposefully toward the dais with his stern gray eyes fixed on David.

"At long last," the king says, and the smile that curves across his lips makes the star's blood run cold. "You have been particularly difficult to get ahold of, but finally, I shall have what's mine."

"If it were yours, you wouldn't have to steal it." David is just as startled by his words as the king seems to be, but he doesn't take them back. Glaring up at Pulitzer as he rounds the table where Davey is chained, the star sets his jaw. "You are genuinely deluded if you think that there's anything right about what you are doing."

"Right? Like your little friends' uprising?" the king replies with a raised eyebrow. He looms above David's shoulder, sneering down the sharp lines of his face at the star. From this close, David can feel the warped magic that rolls off him, something cold and hollow in comparison to the familiar warmth of the Brooklyn crews' flares of color. "Like upturning the societal rules of an entire country and causing irreparable damage to its structures?"

"A country built on slavery _needs_ to be upturned," Davey snaps, hands fisting at his sides, and it's only the pressure of the chain on his throat that makes him realize he's been fighting to sit up. He forces himself to relax when the edges of his vision start to darken, breathing heavily through his nose. "There is no dignity in power that comes from taking down others."

Pulitzer scoffs, expression dry and unimpressed. "Easy for you to say," he remarks. "What do you know of ruling a kingdom? You, blissfully uninvolved from your place in the sky. Forgive me for not trusting the judgment of a star when it comes to how a society should run." The king turns his back, and David sees him opening a small door set into the wall. There's some sort of cabinet behind it, shelves lined in emerald velvet and laden with assorted objects and bottles and other things he doesn't recognize.

"You won't win this way," the star says with conviction, although he can't completely hide the shake of his voice. "The world needs balance. Killing all of the Fey won't fix things. The world will find a way to correct itself."

"Who said anything about killing them all?" Pulitzer asks. When he turns back to face Davey, he's holding a large knife with a pitch black blade, and the star's heart seizes in his chest. "At least not _all_ of them. I simply need them back in line. And you, my friend, are the key to that."

David thrashes against the chains, desperately trying to pull away as Pulitzer steps back up to the table. The metal links bite into his skin, and his throat feels like it's being crushed, his vision narrowing as he struggles to breathe beneath the pressure. "You should feel honored," Pulitzer says, twisting the knife between his fingers. The beams of colored light coming through the windows glint off the obsidian blade and it's all Davey can see. "Your death will restore peace to this world."

"No," the star rasps, tears sparking at the corners of his eyes. As Pulitzer adjusts his grip on the blade, it's not David's life that flashes before his eyes, but those of all his friends. Les, Spot, Racer, Crutchie, Specs, Finch. _Jack_. Davey locks his jaw and meets Pulitzer's eyes as the king holds the knife out above the star's chest. He's not going to give Pulitzer the satisfaction. David refuses to look away as the blade descends, his world grinding into slow motion.

The flash of blue-white burns against David's retinas, and even after he slams his eyes shut, the heat of it sparks against the back of his eyelids. He hears Pulitzer bellow, Wiesel shouting something, and the tinkle of shattering glass, but all Davey can focus on is the sudden leap in his stomach because he knows that light.

"Jack?"

* * *

Gasping, Jack skids to an awkward stop in the middle of the grand hall, struggling to regain his bearings. The outburst of magic was unconscious, an instinctive, desperate rush at the sight of that oily black blade driving downward, and the force of it leaves Jack's head spinning. He feels Katherine's hand on his arm as he blinks away the dark spots in his vision and manages to focus again. And then-

"Jack?"

Jack's heart jumps into his throat at the hopeful shout in a hoarse but familiar voice, and he feels lightheaded all over again. There's blood drying at his temple, and his unfocused eyes are red, but it's David, and he's _alive_ , and Jack feels like he breathes for the first time since the Wall. "Davey!" Relief washes across the star's face and a soft silver glow blossoms beneath his skin.

"You!" Pulitzer points at Jack, face flushed with rage. There's the handle of a knife clutched in his hand, the black blade shattered and gone, and he throws it aside angrily. "I thought I got rid of you! I gave you an out!"

"And I told ya to go to hell," Jack counters, and he feels his magic surge up, blue-white coiling in ribbons around his fists. "You put me in chains, let your goon torture me, threaten to kill all my friends, and wanna butcher the guy I love, and you thought I was just gonna run away?"

"I thought you would act in your own self-interest," Pulitzer sneers. "Clearly you are more of a fool than I suspected."

"Please, Father." This comes from Katherine, and her voice is trembling but earnest. Jack glances sideways at her and sees her chin lifted, knuckles white around the hilt of her sword, but she meets the king's gaze levelly. "This isn't the way. You know it."

"How nice of my daughter to finally come home," Pulitzer says coolly. "Or are you even that, anymore, Lady _Plumber_?"

Katherine's jaw locks and her eyes narrow. "I am doing what I know is right," she says fiercely. "Like my mother raised me. Do you think she would've wanted this?"

"She wanted me to protect you," Pulitzer says, and for the first time, there's a snap of emotion in his voice, glimmers of pale green light flitting across his knuckles. "To provide for _you_. And that is what I am trying to do."

Katherine shakes her head sadly. "Not like this."

The burst of magic is so fast that Jack barely sees it coming, throwing up a weak shield just as the ball of dark green slams into his side. Another follows directly after and this blow catches him in the chest, sending him flying. He hits the ground hard, breath rushing out of his lungs as his head smacks off the stones. A second later, Katherine cries out, and Jack can hear her sword clattering across the ground.

"That's enough from youse two," Wiesel says. Jack rolls onto his side, head still reeling, to see the warlock, his fists full of emerald fire, standing over the spot where Katherine is curled up on the stones. "I think we've had enough distr-"

"How dare you!" Pulitzer's voice cracks like a whip through the hall, and everyone's eyes jump back up to him. "How dare you use your magic against _my daughter_."

"Your majesty, I just-" Wiesel stammers before his words cut off into a shriek. Pulitzer, his eyes gleaming with green sparks, closes his extended fist and Wiesel crumples. His scream morphs as he writhes, getting higher in pitch, while his body seems to collapse and shrink on itself. Then, between one blink and the next, Wiesel is gone. Jack stares in awe at the long furry creature that darts out from beneath the pile of clothes, sprinting for the door.

A weasel.

Jack yelps as his body is suddenly lifted from the floor, green light spiraling around his body like ropes until he can't move. Brow furrowed, Pulitzer splays a hand in the air that freezes Jack in place, hovering with his toes several inches off the ground. Jack reaches for his magic frantically but it does nothing more than spark beneath his skin, and Katherine's warning comes back to him; even with his power weakening, the king's still far more powerful than a warlock. In comparison, Jack's own fledgling magic is useless. It's like his nightmare come to life, the loops of magic trapping him, locking his jaw in place so he can do nothing but watch in horror.

"You had your chance, boy," Pulitzer says coldly. "I will deal with you next."

"Daddy, no!" Katherine shouts, scrambling to her feet again although it seems to hurt, judging by the way she clutches her side. "Please, don't do this."

"It is the only way to fix this mess," the king says. His free hand gestures and the gleam of green light lifts something from the cabinet behind him. Jack's heart plummets a second later when he sees what it is; another black knife, this blade long and narrow and wickedly sharp. "You don't understand, the Fey have to be brought into line," he continues, voice raised over Katherine and Davey's intermingled yells. "This kingdom depends on it."

"There are other ways!" Katherine says.

"No, there are not!" Pulitzer snaps. "Do you even understand how much of this kingdom is powered by their magic? Every factory and mill and irrigation system. All of it runs on the magic that comes from the Bonds, from siphoning. Without that, with your little rebellion, this kingdom will fall apart."

" _Stop_!" Katherine shrieks it, her face flushed and desperate, and she pointedly stoops to pick up her sword. "Don't make me do this."

Pulitzer gives her a condescending look, and a flick of his wrist sends her sword flying from her hand and across the hall. "Do what, Katherine?" he asks drolly. "There's nothing you can do. You've already lost."

"That's what you think!"

* * *

Crutchie bites his lip as he clings awkwardly to Spot's side, the pair of them walking through the doors to the grand hall with the eyes of everyone - except Jack, who is wrapped up so tightly in Pulitzer's magic that he can't move - on them.

"Chin up, boys. And girl," Spot amends with a nod to Lady Katherine. "The cavalry's here." Never let it be said that the pirate captain doesn't like to make a dramatic entrance. Crutchie, meanwhile, is barely hanging on; his already sore and battered muscles are shaking, and he can feel every ounce of Pulitzer's magic shooting through his leg like lightning bolts.

_Just a little longer. Stick to the plan, and it's just a little longer. Keep hoping harder._

"Spot?!" The surprised shout comes from Davey, who is chained to a table at the front of the hall. Crutchie smiles tremulously - sure, Pulitzer's holding a really nasty-looking knife above the star, but at least he's alive, so there's that. Lady Katherine has her arms wrapped around her middle, face screwed up in pain and eyes wet. Jack is floating immobile in a net of Pulitzer's magic.

And Pulitzer? The king looks - unamused.

"Cavalry," he echoes acerbically. "The pirate and the cripple? Consider me unimpressed."

"That's youse first mistake," Crutchie replies loudly. _Be a distraction. Keep Pulitzer's eyes on you as much as possible, don't let him focus on Davey, don't let him focus on Spot._ "Figure you do a lot of underestimatin' the li'l guys, huh? Didn't think one fella and one star could make such a big thing, and look how that turned out for ya." _Gods, why is this hall so big? They're still so far away!_ "Got ya'self into a real pickle now, doncha?"

Pulitzer's eyes narrow and the glimmers of green in his palms grow brighter. The marks on Crutchie's leg respond immediately, and he chokes on a shout as he collapses against Spot's side. "Whoa, Crutch, easy," the pirate says, steadying him, while Crutchie's ears ring with everyone else shouting. "C'mon, pal, hang in there."

"I'm good," Crutchie hisses back, and he knows his grip on Spot's shoulder must be painful by now but the captain doesn't so much as wince. _Just a bit further._

"I know you," Pulitzer says, and his tone is almost thoughtful as he eyes Crutchie. "The Spider's pet. Seems you've fallen from bad company to worse."

"I'mma take my chances," Crutchie responds, meeting the king's gaze. He feels Spot's fist where it's pressed against the small of his back, out of sight. _A bit further._ "'Cause I got a feelin' you ain't gonna be king for long. Things is gonna change 'round here, and I figure I'm on the right side."

Pulitzer sneers derisively, his grip tightening around his blade. "We will see."

Spot taps his knuckles against Crutchie's spine, and the younger boy smirks. "Yeah, we will."

"Speakin' of," Spot says, grinning. "Hey princess, _catch_!" Crutchie ducks and the hand Spot was hiding behind Crutchie reels back and throws. Pulitzer hurls a blast of magic their way that knocks them both back several yards and sets Crutchie's leg on fire, but it's too late. Katherine barely gets her hands up in time to stop the object hitting her in the face. The moment it makes contact with her skin, a ripple of energy that shakes the ceiling rolls through the hall, and the princess' eyes glow white.

"No!" Pulitzer screams, his eyes lighting up like lanterns.

The humming in the hall picks up, something deeper than sound, vibrating inside Crutchie's very bones. The green light around Jack flickers once, twice, and then vanishes, leaving Jack to fall gracelessly to the floor in a heap. Crutchie can't even scream, the pain of the building magic in the air making his breath stick in his chest. There's so much, _too much_ , more magic than he's ever felt at one time and gods, this might actually kill him.

And then just as suddenly as it starts, a second pulse shimmers through the room, Pulitzer and Lady Katherine both collapse, and the magic is gone.

"Kath!"

Spot is already back at Crutchie's side, an arm under his shoulders to help him sit up. A few yards away, Jack rolls Lady Katherine onto her back, checking her over for injuries. "The hell was that?" Jack shouts over his shoulder at Spot.

"That, Cowboy," the captain responds, with a smug grin, "is what we in Stormhold call _politics_."

"Jack, I-" Katherine sits up, eyes dazed as she stares at the diamond pendant in her palm. "It's the Gem."

"Wait, what?" Jack asks, bewildered. "That's Davey's necklace."

_"What have you done?!"_

The bellow from the front of the hall is furious and desperate, crackling with rage. Pulitzer is kneeling on the raised stage, staring at his shaking hands in horror. He looks somehow smaller, that aura of power and intimidation he's always carried gone, leaving him impossibly old and frail.

Crutchie smiles triumphantly. "Sorry, ya highness, but looks like youse out of a job."

"It's over, Pulitzer," Spot says determinedly, his smirk smug and victorious. "Ya got no throne and no magic. Stormhold's got a new king now. And there's an army of Fey gonna be here any minute. In case you ain't figure it out yet, we got you surrounded."

Lady Katherine makes it to her feet at that point, her chin raised in defiance and the gem glowing softly in her grip. "You're finished, Father. Not even the heart of a star can help you now." Pulitzer seems to fold in on himself slightly, glancing from Katherine to his trembling hands like he's struggling to make sense of everything.

"Davey!" Jack sprints across the hall, practically tripping up the two steps of the dais in his haste. Blue-white magic flickers in his hands as he tears at the chains on the star's wrists, the links breaking with loud cracks, and then Jack is tugging Davey against his chest. The star hugs him back, his skin gleaming a beautiful pale silver.

"C'mon, kid, let's get you outta here," Spot says, looping an arm around Crutchie's waist to help him up again. "All the magic in this place ain't doin' you no favors. Princess, can ya-?" Lady Katherine nods immediately, hastily hanging the pendant around her neck to free her hands and walking over. "Cowboy, Mouth, you two comin'?"

"Let's go," Davey says breathlessly, as Jack breaks the chains at his ankles and helps him down off the table.

They're all so preoccupied, caught up in their victory and eagerly looking forward to a respite, that they don't see. None of them notice the hand that closes around the hilt of a dropped knife. None of them hear the furious whisper of "you won't beat me." None of them see until it's too late; until the king is already lunging at an exposed back.

"Jack!"

Davey's panicked shout cuts off midway into a scream of anguish. Jack stares down in shock at the point of obsidian that's protruding from his ribs, the fabric of his shirt steadily darkening to scarlet, but the star is the one whose back is bowed in pain. A blast of bright white erupts from the wound in Jack's chest, throwing Pulitzer back into the marble platform so hard he tumbles backward over the top and crumples. At the same time, David's skin flares silver, head tipped back and eyes glowing with it. Jack staggers a step, brow furrowed, and then his own eyes light up white.

"Jacky!" Crutchie screams, but he can't go anywhere, trapped between Spot and Lady Katherine with his leg hanging uselessly.

"Don't look!" Lady Katherine says breathlessly. It seems like a pointless statement; the light coming off Jack and Davey is burning so bright now it's painful to look at, worse than sunlight off fresh snow. Still, Spot has to manhandle Crutchie to get him turned away.

"Close ya eyes, Crutch," the captain says firmly, and then shoves the younger boy's face into his collar to shield him.

Crutchie doesn't want to, but he forces his eyes shut, clinging to Spot for support. "But Jack-" he gasps frantically.

"I know," Spot replies, and his grip on the back of Crutchie's neck tightens.

Another flare of light is coupled with a pulse of sound and power that knocks them all off their feet. Unlike Pulitzer's magic, this one doesn't set Crutchie's leg on fire - instead, it's cold and almost paralyzing, turning his muscles to ice and numbing his skin. Crutchie's distantly aware of Spot crouching over him, the captain half-shielding him with his body. The power keeps throbbing through the hall, a steady pulsing rhythm that rises in pitch. Over the ringing in his ears, Crutchie hears glass shattering, stones cracking, metal shrieking.

The hum picks up again, louder and hard, and Jack and Davey both scream in tandem. Crutchie has his palms pressed flat against his ears, desperately trying to muffle the sound, but it's reverberating inside his bones. The light is so bright it's burning through his closed eyes, sparks of red on the backs of his eyelids, and Crutchie burrows his face against Spot's shoulder to try and block the whiteness. The numbness has sunk its claws into him, and a strange, disjointed prickle is crawling up his leg. Something crashes heavily to the ground somewhere nearby, and Crutchie cries out when he's struck by shrapnel, a piece of whatever hitting him in the back, but he can't hear even his own voice over the sound.

And then, all at once, everything stops. 

* * *

Humanity is painful.

If David hadn't already thoroughly established this fact, this moment would definitely solidify it. It's like falling all over again; the burn and itch in his skin like it's been scrubbed raw, the ache of his muscles that goes straight down to his bones, a ringing pressure in his ears and the taste of metal on his tongue. There's a throbbing in his chest that steals his breath, pounding and pounding against his ribcage like a hammer. Everything hurts.

Except, as far as Davey knows, he shouldn't be feeling anything at all. Right? Isn't that how dying works?

Wait, is he dead? Why does he think he's supposed to be dead? It feels like fighting against gravity to pull the memories back up, trying to make sense of the blur in his head. Colors and sounds spiral through each other to form vague impressions; stained glass windows, cold dread, ghostly green magic, bone-melting relief, the glint of a blade, lightning-sharp panic, and pain unlike anything David's ever felt before. Pain like his heart exploded, like it splintered to pieces inside his chest. Worse is the pain of a single moment frozen in time: the point of an obsidian blade emerging from Jack's chest, dying a shirt maroon as it tore through his human's heart.

The memory sends a burst of adrenaline through his body, and Davey wakes with a gasp. There are startled noises around him, and every muscle protests the movement, but David sits up and looks around anxiously. His brain distantly processes his surroundings - the stone hall that looks like it's housed a hurricane, the three figures kneeling around him, the sunlight streaming through gaping windows - but his eyes only focus on one thing. "Jack?"

Lying on his back beside David, the human groans but squints up at him. The star lets out a breath of relief so heavy it nearly drags him back into unconsciousness. Jack's shirt is bloodstained and rumpled, and someone's clearly already checked because the buttons are undone halfway, but David still reaches out to push the fabric aside. Beneath the blood drying on his skin, in the spot where a knife pierced through only minutes ago, there's a pale, silvery-white scar on the left side of Jack's chest in the shape of a starburst.

"You're alive," Davey exhales breathlessly. He presses his palm against the mark, and he can feel Jack's heart throbbing steadily beneath his skin. "Skies, I thought you'd died."

"Same," Jack says, brow furrowed, and his hand comes up to settle on top of David's. "S'why'm I not?"

Katherine clears her throat and smiles. "It is notoriously difficult to kill someone who possesses the heart of a star."

Jack frowns, confused, and then his eyes dart to David in alarm. "I'm fine," the star assures him, and lifts the human's hand to his chest, letting him feel the beat of Davey's heart there. "It's a metaphor."

"A what-a-for?" Spot interjects, eyebrow raised.

"It's the reason stars aren't supposed to fall in love," David admits and can feel a faint blush creep up the back of his neck at talking about this in front of an audience. Not that they don't all know, of course, but it's still a little embarrassing to get into details. "Because when we do, we give our hearts away."

With a grunt, Jack shoves himself into a sitting position, and there are immediately hands at his back to steady him. Jack's eyes are only for Davey, though, as he presses his fingers more firmly against the tender skin on the star's chest. "Then _how_?" he asks, and David doesn't need him to elaborate to know what he's asking.

"Remember how I told you that the power of a star's heart can keep a human alive for a really long time?" David says, biting his lip nervously. "Well, lucky for us, it turns out if you split it in half, that much power is still enough to keep two humans alive for a more standard lifetime."

"Two," Jack echoes dazedly.

Nodding, Davey nervously unbuttons his shirt far enough to reveal the left side of his chest. There's an identical silver-white mark on his skin, directly above his heart. "A star giving their heart away might be a metaphor for the most part," he says, shivering as Jack traces fingertips along the edges of the mark, "but it does have - effects. It forms a connection between the star and their partner. The sort of connection that, in dire circumstances, can make that 'giving' part a little less metaphorical."

"So, wait," Spot says, glancing between the two of them. "You sayin' that Jack got half your heart in his chest now?"

"Not literally," the star says. "More, the magic that used to live in my heart jumped ship to fix the damage to his. Although it's definitely not something we should try again, please, because I don't think it will work a second time."

"Used to," Jack repeats, and there's something in his eyes, a growing realization spreading across his features. David can see him putting all of the pieces together, lips shaping silent words as he goes back over the conversation, gaze panning over the star appraisingly. His hand moves from Davey's chest to cup the side of his face with an intent focus. "Youse skin's warm," he says in wonder, and then his eyes meet David's. "Are you - youse _human_?"

Davey laughs, shrugging. "I'm not sure," he admits. "Something like it, I think. Healing you took a lot more power than I expected. I mean, I'm definitely not a star anymore, so I guess, yeah?" Jack looks stricken, his fingers spasming against David's jaw, and Davey immediately covers the human's hand with his own. "It's what I wanted, Jack," he says emphatically. "Because you were right when you said living forever is lonely. And worse, the thought of outliving you - I _can't_. I don't think I'd survive it. But this, a normal human life with you?" He smiles tremulously. "That sounds perfect. I mean, at least, if that's what you-"

Davey doesn't even get to finish the sentence before Jack has surged forward and captured his lips. David melts into it, the lingering anxiety lifted from his chest, and he's breathless by the time Jack pulls back enough to meet his eyes. "Course I do, ya idiot," he says, beaming. "Made a deal and everythin', 'member?"

Feeling the heat rush into his cheeks and ears as he remembers that night beside the little forest pond, David nods. "Wherever you go, as long as you'll have me."

"Looks like youse stuck with me now," Jack says, and although his tone is teasing, his gaze is affectionate as his hand drops from Davey's cheek to twine with his fingers.

The moment is broken when Spot clears his throat pointedly. "Not that this ain't just lovely and all," the pirates says with a hint of sarcasm, "and I'm glad you both ain't dead, but we did just sorta overturn a kingdom and all..."

"Pulitzer," David says, a shard of fear lodging in his chest as he glances toward the raised platform.

"He's gone," Katherine says, and beneath her mask of neutrality, her eyes are slightly red-rimmed. "The light, it - he's gone." Davey winces, because as much as he's relieved the king is gone, he also knows that the man was her father. Katherine must read something of his thoughts in his face because she touches his arm gently. "It's best this way," she admits more softly. "It would not have ended well if we'd had to put him on trial or-" She shrugs, letting the statement trail off, but he can figure out where she was headed.

"Was time for a new king anyway," Spot says. "So congrats, ya majesty."

Katherine flushes slightly. "Where did you even get your hands on this?" she asks the captain in awe, her fingers coming up to touch the pendant hanging around her neck.

David's eyes follow the gesture, and he startles. "Hey, that's mine," he says in surprise. Katherine looks at him with her brow furrowed. "I mean, it was," he says. "That's the necklace, the one that knocked me out of the sky."

"Turns out Davey here's had your magic rock all this time," Jack says, shaking his head in exasperation. "Been carryin' the stupid thing 'round in his pockets while you lot were out lookin' all over the kingdom for it, 'cause neither us knew what it was."

Katherine huffs, a breathless, bemused noise. "All this time," she says. "That's what kept bringing me back to you two. I didn't even - when I left the Brooklyn in Solara, I went to see a friend of mine who's a Seer. He told me to head to Tryb, that the one from the sky would lead me to the Gem. I knew the Brooklyn was headed there, I thought he must've meant that, but he meant _you_."

"We could've saved so much time, so much trouble," David says, wincing.

"I dunno, sounds to me like things worked out the way they's s'posed to," Crutchie says, speaking up for the first time, and there's a genuine smile on his face. Davey meets his gaze and grins, a sense of relief washing over him at seeing the younger boy safe.

"Oh, yeah, Davey," Jack says, suddenly eager and bright-eyed as he drops a hand on Crutchie's shoulder. "This's-"

"Your brother, Crutchie," David finishes for him. Jack freezes, shocked, as he glances between the two. David smiles at the confused look, squeezing his fingers fondly. "We've met. I'm glad you're okay, Crutchie."

The younger boy's smile gets impossibly bigger. "Same. And I'm betta than okay, pal," he replies. Reaching down, he tugs at the knee of his breeches. His calf is thin, the muscles atrophied from a lifetime of nonuse, but the skin is pink and pale and unblemished. "I think I mighta got caught in the crossfire of whateva ya did to Jacky," Crutchie says, brushing his fingers over his knee with a look of wonder. As he does, Davey also notices that his cuffs are gone as well, his wrists wrapped in only a set of woven bracelets made of shredded, dirty rags.

"Yeah, ya might'a gone a bit ova'board with youse li'l magic show," Spot adds with a smirk, glancing around the hall. David looks around properly for the first time; the windows have been reduced to nothing but piles of glittering dust, several cracks stretch through the stone walls, and a warped chandelier has fallen to shatter on the floor. "Hope youse up for redecoratin', princess."

"Ain't a princess no more," Jack reminds the captain with a chuckle. "She's king now. Ya did it, Kath. Don't think folks is gonna say you ain't worthy of that thing no more. Ya ready to fix this place up?"

Katherine beams brightly. "Yeah, I am."

"Rally should be here soon 'nough," Spot says, and he stands up, dusting off his trousers. "Whaddya say we go give 'em the good news?" They all clamber to their feet, Jack and David both moving gingerly through protesting muscles, and Crutchie needs help getting up, his leg no longer hexed but still no good at supporting any weight. After a minute they finally get arranged, Crutchie propped against Jack's side, arm over his shoulders for balance.

"Ready?" Jack asks the group in general, but his eyes are on Davey, hand held out expectantly.

So the former star threads his fingers through his human's and nods. "I'm with you."

* * *

The celebrations go on for hours, well into the evening, far past the time when the sun sinks beyond the horizon and fires are lit around the castle courtyard to chase away the darkness. Jack watches the festivities, Fey kids and adults and random civilians alike, with a sense of pride and awe. It was a bit of a shock, emerging from the castle earlier to find the courtyard flooding with so many people, the rally arriving precisely as their little group was leaving the castle. More than just the Fey from the campground, it seemed they picked up some stragglers along the way, folks from the city moved by the Feys' cause and joining in the march.

Being able to announce to the crowd that they'd won is a feeling he won't soon forget.

There's still so much to do, though, Jack knows that. Just because they've won the fight doesn't mean that everything is magically going to be fixed. There are still going to be people who resist, warlocks who will fight back against them, people unwilling to accept change. The road ahead is still long and hard and probably dangerous. But for tonight, they are victorious. They are _free_.

"Hey, Jacky."

Jack shakes out of his thoughts with a smile, glancing sideways at the approaching voice. It still sends a leap through his chest every time his gaze lands on his little brother's face, a vague sense of déjà vu paired with giddy wonder. "Hey, Charlie," he greets, and the name tastes strangely like nostalgia. His gaze flicks to the crutch under his brother's arm - found in Wiesel's wagon - and he rubs the back of his neck. "Or do ya prefer Crutchie?"

"Whateva's fine," Charlie replies, shrugging. "Still gettin' used ta' Charlie, but I kinda like it." He sits down on the stone step beside Jack and stretches out his legs, grinning. "I know it's dumb, but still think that's the best," he admits, gesturing to the weak flex of his right foot. "Ain't been able to do that foreva."

Jack chuckles and slings an arm around Charlie's shoulders. "Betcha get a li'l practice, work that leg up, youse gonna be runnin' races in no time," he says confidently. "Toss that crutch fa' good."

Charlie laughs. "Then I'll really hafta get a new name," he says. "Ain't much a Crutchie with no crutch, right?" He leans his weight into Jack's side, seeming to drink in the contact, and scratches at his now bared wrist. "Ya know youse s'posed to be celebratin', right?" the younger boy says, shooting him a sideways look. "Ya did it, Jacky. So why ya look like ya still got too much in ya head?"

"Just - thinkin'," Jack says, staring distractedly out into the revelry. "Been a busy coupla days, ya know? Got lots to figure out."

"You really thinking 'bout leavin'?" Charlie asks, and it's the first hint of hesitation Jack's heard from him. "Spot was sayin' you and Davey was thinking 'bout crossin' the Wall, 'cause ya can now Davey's not a star no more, right?"

Jack sighs. "Dunno," he admits. "Think it'd be good for all us, ya know? Get outta here, go to Santa Fe. You'll love it there, kid. Sun and sand and skies goin' on foreva. Everythin' all clean and green and pretty. No stinky factories or noisy docks, no warlocks and Bulls. Just space to breathe and run and be free." He licks his lips and wonders why the thought doesn't fill him with the same excitement that it used to. "Dunno, guess it's one'a them things I still gotta figure."

The truth is, he's feeling a bit listless. He doesn't feel that same desire to go west pushing him on anymore. He doesn't have the righteous fury of the revolution to drive him anymore. He doesn't need to find a way to get Davey home anymore. He's accomplished everything he set out to do. He's got Davey, and he gets to keep him now. He's found his brother. He's ensured his friends are free.

So what's left?

"S'it really so diff'rent over there?" Charlie asks curiously.

"I mean, sorta," says Jack. "But not too much, really. Still just a lotta folks workin' jobs to keep fed and raise families, when ya break it down. Big thing is, can't do _this_ over there." It's second nature now to summon up the flicker of blue-white light in his palm - except the color is slightly different, a faint silvery sheen over the blue. "Huh."

Charlie smirks. "Looks like maybe ya got a li'l more star in ya now than ya thought," he remarks in amusement, reaching out and running his fingers through the twisting light. It coils and tumbles around his fingers like liquid, leaving echoes of silver on his skin that take a second to fade. Then Charlie holds his hand out open in front of him, frowning at it in concentration. After a minute, sparks of pale rose-gold dance across his palm, tiny spots of light the color of sunrise. "Gonna hafta practice that too," the younger boy says with a rueful smile. "But least I can now, thanks ta' youse guys."

"Took me days to even get that far," Jack says, squeezing the arm around the kid's shoulder affectionately. "Youse a natural."

"Never thought I'd see Jack Kelly sitting out on a party."

The leap in his stomach is totally involuntary, and Jack is grinning when he looks forward. David and Katherine are walking up to the steps where Jack's taken refuge from the chaos, and the star (or former star, he supposes) smiles a little wider when their eyes meet. "I got a couple years of big brotherin' to make up for," Jack responds, ruffling Charlie's hair and making the younger boy squawk indignantly. "Didn't figure you'd be much for the crowd."

"I'm adjusting," Davey says, shrugging. "Or rather, the crew is sort of forcing me to get used to it." Despite the exasperation of his tone, he looks distinctly pleased and his smile is fond. "You just wait until they find you and drag you back into it."

"Before that happens," Katherine interjects, coming closer, "there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

Jack's smile flickers slightly at the intensity of her tone, and he casts a quick glance to Davey before he nods. "Sounds serious."

"A little," the redhead agrees. "Well, maybe not in the grand scheme, but still." She folds her arms on her chest, seeming to draw herself up into that persona he recognizes, the fierce princess who refuses to be ignored. Jack raises an eyebrow; apparently it's more serious than she's letting on. "I know that today is a day for celebrating," she says levelly, "and we've accomplished something incredible here, but that's today. Tomorrow is a different story."

"Yeah, I get that," Jack says because he was thinking as much already. "Can't expect to fix ev'rythin' in a day, right?"

"Unfortunately not," Katherine says with a sardonic smile. "We've still got a lot of work to do to get this kingdom back on track, and I can guarantee that there are going to be plenty of people who are resistant to the direction I intend to move this kingdom. Which is why I'm here to offer you a job."

Jack feels a cold pit open up in his stomach, shocked and revolted by the suggestion. "I told ya fatha no, and I ain't changin' my mind for you," he says flatly. "I ain't usin' my Knack to make folks behave or nothin'."

Something sparks, hard and dangerous, in Katherine's eyes; even through his anger, Jack gets the feeling that _he's_ the one who's done something wrong. "I can't believe you think I'd even ask that of you," she hisses, furious and maybe a little hurt. "That's precisely the sort of mentality I'm trying to get this place away from."

"It's nothing like that, Jack," David steps in, setting a reassuring hand on Jack's shoulder. "Just, hear her out?"

"But if - wait, then whatcha talkin' 'bout?" Jack asks, turning back to the princess (king? Or queen, maybe?) in confusion.

Katherine takes a deep breath, visibly relaxing her features. "There was some truth to what the king said about this kingdom's dependence on Fey magic," she explains. "There are so many things in the kingdom that are powered by magic, and freeing the Fey is going to mean all of those things grind to a halt. My plan is to find a replacement for the magic that we can use to keep things running. It's something that the other lords and I've been discussing for years, and we could never find a good solution. Until this."

"What's'at?" Jack asks, brow furrowing as he leans in to see the object in her hand. It's a metal cylinder of some kind, barely longer than her hand, with a catch at one end and a small knob at the other.

"This is what Race used to shoot lightning at the warlock in Jerna," Katherine says, lips twisting in amusement. "He's apparently something of a tinker, and the number of things he's come up with in regards to containing and controlling lightning is astonishing. It might also be what saves this kingdom."

Jack's eyes snap up to Katherine's face as her implication hits him. "You wanna replace magic with lightning?"

"It works for the Brooklyn," David points out.

"Race has plans drawn up for it already," Katherine says. "Engines like on the Brooklyn that can push lightning into the mechanisms in the mills and factories, to make them run on their own. It will take some time to get them refined and functional and to get them installed into all of the places we'll need them, but it's a step. It's something that I can take to the people, to show them that we are going to move this kingdom in a new direction that will be _better_."

"Okay, yeah, that's good," Jack agrees because he can see the potential behind the idea. "But what's it gotta do with me?"

"Well, these changes mean that the demand for lightning is going to go through the roof," the redhead says with a cheeky smile. "We are going to need to bring in a lot more, and regularly, to keep things running, which also means that we are going to need a lot more crews gathering lightning. I've been talking with Spot about how we'll manage this, getting his suggestions for expanding the market. The Brooklyn is the first official ship in the kingdom's new lightning fleet. He recommended you as captain for the second."

Jack gapes at Katherine in shock, brain struggling to comprehend what she's suggesting. She wants him to run his own ship, to devote himself full-time to chasing lightning through the clouds like they do aboard the Brooklyn. It's more than that, though. Taking this job means no Santa Fe. It means staying in Stormhold, settling into this place with a role and responsibilities.

David sits down on Jack's other side, taking his hand. "It's up to you, Jack," he says gently, and his gaze is understanding and focused. "And we don't have to decide tonight, of course, if you want to think about it."

"No, of course, you can take some time," Katherine chips in, nodding. "It will take a little while to get things started anyway."

Jack's never seriously considered staying in Stormhold before today; as a star, David's life would always be in danger in this place, and Charlie's been hurt so much by magic that Jack wanted to get him away from it all. Except, Davey's not a star anymore, and Charlie seems thrilled to be able to use his magic. In Stormhold, Jack and Davey can really be together in a way they can't in New York or Santa Fe. And Jack thinks of that hollowness he felt on the other side of the Wall, that empty hole where his magic should've been. He lived those first eighteen years without it, but now that he knows what he'll be missing...

"Wait, you guys really catched lightnin'?" Charlie asks with wide-eyed amazement.

Jack chuckles. "Oh yeah, kid, it's crazy," he says. "Biggest rush ya could ever feel, fo'sure." Which is sort of true, really. It was terrifying and dangerous, and Jack had enjoyed every minute of it. It was a helluva lot more satisfying than any of the jobs he'd ever worked in New York. Would it be so bad to do that all the time?

Lacing their fingers together, Jack glances at Davey. "What d'you think?"

"I told you, I'm with you wherever," David responds simply. "Here or New York or Santa Fe."

A small smile steals across Jack's lips as the idea starts to take root. He was looking for something new, some task to give him direction in his life again. This could be it. "Eh, what's Santa Fe got that this place don't anyway?" he says.

Davey echoes his grin, an expression of excitement and curiosity and hope. "Tarantulas, probably."

Jack barks a laugh, elbowing David fondly. "What 'bout you, kid?" he asks Charlie, arm settled around the younger boy's shoulders again. "Your choice too, ain't leavin' you behind."

Charlie beams, eyes lit up eagerly. "I'mma follow you too, Jacky, whateva ya pick," he says. "But chasin' lightnin' sounds fun, and, uh, pro'lly a good time to say I can tell the weather. Like, before ya can see it, I mean. S'my Knack."

After a second of stunned silence, Jack laughs and squeezes the kid's shoulders. David has already collapsed against Jack's side in a fit of giggles. "Guess that settles it," he says, looking up at Katherine. "Alright, Kath, you got ya'self a deal."

Katherine smiles and extends her hand. "Very well. Congratulations, Captain."

"Captain Jack," he says and then grins, taking her hand. "I like the sound'a that."

* * *

**-Six Months Later-**

A heavy knocking drags Jack out of sleep, and he blinks blearily in the darkness. The only light in the room is the faint glow of starlight coming through the single window, giving a dim impression of the little bedroom; the low bed, the large desk covered in a mess of both official papers and his sketching books, the canvas map pinned to the wall. Jack relaxes, finally recognizing his surroundings, just in time for a second knock. "Cap'n?"

"Whaddya want?" Jack yells back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Storm's 'bout here," comes the reply. "Davey said ta' wake ya."

Jack groans and drags a hand over his face, even as he feels a spike of adrenaline in his chest. "A'right, I'mma comin'," Jack hollers. He shoves the blankets off and stumbles around his room in the dark, pulling his discarded clothes back on as he shakes off the last traces of sleep. It was a long night shift and he's grateful for the little bit of a nap he managed to steal. It's only a minute later when he throws open the door to the captain's quarters, grabbing the waiting pair of rain slickers from the hook, and steps out onto the deck of the S. S. Manhattan.

The wind is whipping, tugging his clothes and threatening to steal his hat, and directly ahead, he can see the swell of black clouds filling the horizon. There's a rush of pride as Jack looks over his crew, already scrambling in every direction to prepare the ship for the oncoming storm. These are his crew, the kids he recruited during the time he spent traveling around to help Katherine bring the kingdom into its new era. Sometimes a Brooklyn boy will run with them for a bit - the two ships agreed on (after much pretend grumbling) a revolving-door policy to prevent divided loyalties - but there's one member that's properly defected; Les is too attached to Jack, and especially to Davey, to be left behind.

"Toldja it'd be a big one, Cap," Charlie calls from where he's standing at the mast, shouting directions to the other kids.

"Yeah, ya sure did," Jack agrees, crossing to the mast. The first mate's clinging to a rope to keep himself steady, but his crutch is abandoned for the time being. He's made great progress with his leg, building up the muscle to the point that it supports weight for a while, enough that he can walk short distances on his own. Of course, storms are a completely different story; even the kids with two good legs can barely keep their footing in the weather. Jack grins and gives Charlie an approving nod. "Good call, kid."

Beaming, Charlie salutes him and then turns back to his job. "Itey, Tommy Boy, get them sails up, wouldja?!"

"Les, Smalls, you got them side nets?" Jack asks as the two youngest crew members sprint passed him.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n Jack!" they shout back in unison.

Jack heads up to the quarterdeck as the first raindrops start to pelt against the ship, and the sight makes his heart leap. Davey is standing behind the helm like he was born to be there, legs braced to steady him against the tossing ship and long-fingered hands coiled around the wheel. His hair is disheveled and cheeks pinked by the wind. A distant flash of lightning illuminates the deck, and in the moment of brightness, David's smile is blinding and cavalier. Jack instinctively finds himself echoing his grin. "How's we doin', Dave?"

"We're in for a wild one," Davey responds. Jack crosses to the helm, holding out the second rain slicker for David to slip his arms into, one at a time, so he doesn't lose control of the pitching ship. "Crutchie was right, this'll be good. We're going to get a full hold out of this one, at least so long as I can keep us on track."

"Ya got this," Jack says confidently, pulling on his own raincoat. "Ain't no one got a betta handle on the 'Hattan than you."

David gives him a wry smile, locking his knees when a sudden updraft rocks the ship. "I feel like you're probably a little biased on that topic."

"Dunno whatcha talkin' about," Jack counters. Even as he says it, he reaches out and brushes his fingers over the braided band on Davey's left wrist. It's a beautiful weave of smooth leather and a single narrow silver cord, identical to the one on Jack's own wrist.

Stormhold traditions are so different from what Jack's used to from home. The hand-fasting ceremony was private and simple, Katherine officiating, tying a silver cord around Jack and David's wrists to declare them forever bound - "as if we don't a'ready share more 'an a ribbon," Jack had teased at the time. Stormhold has no customs as far as rings or other physical indicators of a marriage, but Jack wanted _something_. So Charlie, who has gotten good at making bracelets after so many years, had crafted a pair of matching leather bands to include the silver cord from their ceremony. It's a small thing, but they both like having a little reminder with them at all times.

"Yeah, sure you don't," David replies with a knowing grin as Jack runs a finger along the silver on Davey's wrist.

"I ain't biased 'cause we's hitched," Jack says resolutely, barely biting back his smile. He can feel the slight buzz in his chest that comes whenever he's happy, and he knows that beneath the layers of clothes, the silver scar on his chest will be shimmering lightly. "We's hitched 'cause youse the best sailor I know. Couldn't risk ya runnin' off and workin' for the competition."

Davey laughs, rolling his eyes fondly. "Get to work, Jacky," he says, nodding toward the lower deck. "I've got the helm. You go make sure we get enough lightning that we can break out the whiskey tonight."

Grinning, Jack ducks in to kiss his partner - and a gust of wind nearly knocks him over into the helm in the process - before he turns and jogs back down to the deck. He takes his standard place at the mast, coiling one hand in a piece of rope for balance, and looks around at the crew. "A'right, Manhattan, let's get a move on. Sails are up, storms alive, and we ain't gettin' any younger. Let's go catch us some lightnin'!" And the chorus of excited cheers that echo back to him fill that hole in Jack's chest that he never knew existed before Stormhold.

Jack might not be the smartest guy, but he ain't stupid either. He knows a good thing when he sees it. When he was young, he learned to look out for himself because no one else would do it. Nowadays, that's not so true anymore. Jack's got a partner and a brother; he's got friends and a crew. He takes care of them - makes sure they always have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies - and they watch out for him in return. He has a place where he matters, where he has a job he loves that makes a difference, and where he's so much more than just another face in the crowd.

"On your call, Jack!" Davey announces from the helm, guiding the Manhattan along the edge of the storm.

"Nets down on my count!" Jack shouts and receives a nod from either side. "Three, two, one, _pull_!" The ship lurches as the nets drop, massive tangles of copper-laced rope unfurling to drag behind the ship. "Rail nets down?"

"Yessir!" Charlie hollers back.

Jack grins as a flash of lightning cuts through the clouds just off the port side. "A'right then, take us in, Davey!" he calls over his shoulder. At the helm, David gives a sarcastic salute, smirking, before he spins the wheel, plunging the Manhattan into the heart of the storm. Rain lashes the deck, lightning spears through the air around them, and the ship bucks on the turbulent air currents. "At the ready, boys, this lightnin' ain't gonna catch itself!"

It's barely a minute later when the first bolt hits the mast, searing down the cables into the waiting canisters. Jack can't hear it over the crackle of the lightning, but he can see the crew celebrating, fists punching the air and smiles flashing in the light. Charlie's at his side immediately, ready to help change the connector over as soon as the canister's full. Davey's in full focus up at the helm, soaked through as he hauls the wheel to keep them steady, but he catches Jack's eye long enough to exchange enthusiastic smiles.

Yeah, this new life Jack's built for himself has got nothing on those dreams of Santa Fe; it's _better_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Wow, guys, I can't believe we're finally to the end of this. This story took on a life all of its own and I'm honestly not sure I would've finished if it weren't for your endless support. You guys have been so incredible through this whole thing and I can never express how grateful I am to all of you who bothered to give this ridiculous idea a chance. 
> 
> For those of you who've asked, I do have future projects in the works. I have multiple other Newsies AU novels that are in progress, three about 75% completed, so those should be coming in the near future. Also toying around with a number of oneshots, both canon and AU, so those will come as they're completed. 
> 
> _**Poll:**_ as far as the multichap AU, which would you guys be most interested in reading? A Beauty  & the Beast themed, Hunger Games, or silly/fluffy rom-com? Let me know in comments or messages. Cheers!
> 
> Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your kudos and comments. You guys are the only thing that keeps my battered artists' heart beating some days. 
> 
> Until the next time,  
> love and jellybeans  
> \- <3 Artie


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